


Controlled Burn

by omnenomnom



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Biting, Dark, Dirty Talk, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Kinky, Mental Health Issues, Oral Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Romance, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex Positive, Spanking, Toxic Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:47:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 75,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26633854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omnenomnom/pseuds/omnenomnom
Summary: Returning to Hogwarts was nothing like what she had expected. Some days it felt like she wasn't even there at all, no matter how hard she tried. She would give almost anything to just feel normal again. Even still, Draco Malfoy was a terrible choice. The worst really. But he was also the only one who brought her back to herself.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 216
Kudos: 389





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A special thank you to my editor Chantertwo and beta Moomoomavis!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Welcome.
> 
> Readers form the Potioneers: I love you, but please leave. This is a completely different story from that one and I would recommend finding something else to read.  
> Edit: I can't leave well enough alone and apparently have to chase after character development like a carrot on a stick. So this is going to have more plot than I had hoped to begin with.
> 
> Warnings
> 
> Graphic content, copious amounts of foul language, rough sex, toxic relationships, and a whole host of other general post war fuckery.
> 
> THIS IS NOT A RELATIONSHIP GUIDE IN ANY WAY, SHAPE, OR FORM.
> 
> This is going to be hella toxic for awhile and while the themes can feel dramatic and romantic, they don't make for healthy stable relationships. If you see these types of themes in your own relationship please reach out to a trusted family member or friend. If you are unsure you may message me. While I may not have all the details I am a wholly neutral party and you can hide behind an anonymity of the internet. No judgements here.
> 
> Other than that, let's go! Enjoy your reading and share with whomever you deem worthy. I post little world building information at the end of the chapter along with Q and A. It is totally optional and the story will still read fine if you skip it. Okay bye!

__

_Controlled burning-_

_The setting of planned fires to maintain the health of a forest and reduce the damage from spontaneous forest fires. These burns are scheduled for a time when the fire will not pose a threat to the public or to fire managers. When forest conditions should call for a_ _controlled burn_ _the weather conditions should also be right to allow burning but not enable a fire to spread out of control._

Hermione shivered under the magical pressure from the castle. She had spent such a long time away that she had forgotten how it felt, growing with her magic and settling into a part of her. The year-long absence set them on two different paths and they no longer fit. Like most things nowadays.

Just like her and Ron no longer fit. How sitting on the train without waving goodbye to her parents didn't fit. The way people laughed openly and freely while she quietly turned over puzzle pieces in her mind, far far away. Everyone wanted to forget, and they all tried in their own ways. But not her, she already forgets too much. She would remember each of them until the day she died, and she still spent most of her hours trying to piece together the puzzle of how she could have done better.

Which was why she was hiding in an alcove just outside the Great Hall, tracking the people coming in. Harry and Ron had already settled inside, Ginny joining them after a concerned inquiry. It was easy to brush them off, Head girl duties provided a perfect excuse. It wasn't even a total lie; she had already seen two fights start in the foyer as some high-profile students crossed paths with those whose emotions were still raw.

She broke them up, of course, and sent the injured parties to the hospital wing. That wasn't to say she didn't understand the instigators. She wasn't present for the reign of the Carrows, but what Neville had said made their Horcrux hunt sound like a vacation.

It took all summer for her to forgive, to accept that some people were just a product of their circumstance and to leave them alone in their misery. Honestly, it was one of the only positive consequences of how her mind now worked. She was unable to hold on to much of anything, and that included hate, as well. It was exhausting, so she forgave and forgot about them.

All except for one.

He didn't fit. Where all the other young Death Eaters had clear, predictable shapes that clicked together as expected, their parents and behaviors all part of the same image, he did not. At first glance it would be easy to mistake, but on close inspection his curve was in the wrong place, the color a shade brighter than the rest of them. A diagonal edge that shouldn't exist, throwing off the whole image.

"I- I can't be sure."

Why? She had to know why. She never left a puzzle unfinished. And she had the right. Perhaps more than anyone.

She rubbed her arm absently, the scar still settling into her skin. The healers told her she couldn't scratch it. It was like asking her to paint a house with a toothbrush. Instead she worked on her puzzles, trying to scratch a different itch in her mind.

The hat had started singing. Some dribble about clean slates and not forgetting history. Well, she could agree with that last bit, at least.

Finally she saw him sneaking along the wall, his blond hair catching the slight torchlight, blanching it to eggshell. He moved through the shadows, weaving in and around alcoves and objects alike with the grace and practice of someone who didn't want to be seen. She glanced around, sure they were alone. Hagrid had led in the first years at least ten minutes ago, and at this point any stragglers were probably not coming down at all. Not that she blamed them. Too many seats sat empty in that hall. She waited patiently until he was close enough that if he tried to run she would be able to grab his robe.

"Malfoy!" She hissed. She stepped out of her own hiding place and directly into his path, giving him just enough space to pull up a foot short of her. Close. Incredibly too close. But right now she didn't care. His body jerked quickly as he tried to step around her. Her hand shot out just as he stepped to her right, catching his sleeve with an iron grip, her feet planted. He was not getting away.

"What?" He questioned dully looking straight ahead. She watched his jaw twitch as he shoved his clenched hands into his pockets. He looked dreadful. Maybe worse. He still had that cold, aristocratic beauty he always did. It was wholly unfair that someone so cruel could be so attractive. She had checked with Ginny to make sure there was nothing wrong with her this summer only to have the redhead confirm it. He was fit, an absolute arsehole but still fit. Which was just bloody fantastic to hear. Her thoughts were already jumbled enough without having to worry about keeping odd attractions in mind. The last thing she needed was to start fantasizing about Professor Snape.

She stumbled over the idle thought. It was likely in bad taste to make jokes about the dead.

How would one apologize to a dead person? She wondered.

"Granger," he prompted just as dully as the first time. He was still staring astutely ahead next to her, jaw twitching slightly. While she tried to reign in her loose thoughts—they were happening more frequently these days, something that scared her—she studied him again. He was surprisingly elegant, though it was made harsher by the sharp edges of his bones, which pushed deeply against his skin as if he hadn't been eating. Dark smudges swept across the white cast of his skin beneath his eyes like an errant stroke of watercolor maring a new canvas. She could almost miss the characteristic smirk on his face when she found it replaced a tight, stoney line. "Well, take your shot."

"What?" She questioned. She shook her head, trying to kick-start her brain back to reality. She had mentioned its prolectivity to wander to a few people who all got that look of pity in their eyes and inanely suggested she go to see a mind healer. They all said the same thing. Coping very well. No discernable damage. Above average intelligence. Very good, Miss Granger, all things considered.

They only said that because they didn't know what she had lost. That she could no longer focus on more than one thing at once and that her mind would drift away if she didn't hold it in a death grip. To them she was fine. To her it was like she had lived her whole life in technicolor only to have dropped into sepia at the very last moment. He was looking at her. Had he said something else? This was not going according to plan.

"I assume you isolated me in the corridor after I took such specific pains to not get caught out by anyone in order to hex or curse me," he sighed.

"What? No. I-" she sputtered, rejecting the idea outright. Hexing in the halls was very very against the school rules, especially nowadays. And she was not one to hex an enemy in the back, no matter how badly they deserved it. But then again, he was sort of facing her now...

"Ah. Then you're going to hit me again." He nodded his head in confirmation. "The muggle way. I have to admit that in spite of its brutish delivery, it hurt quite a bit. As good of a choice as any, I suppose."

"I'm not going to hit you, Malfoy," she growled, listening to the shouted names of the first years interspersed with the sprinkling of applause as they settled in their new tables. She was missing it, the whole feast. And she still hadn't asked him yet.

"Then let go of my sleeve," he huffed, a sliver of anger leaking back into his tone. Finally, something familiar. Something she could latch on to.

"No. I have to ask you—"

She tugged harshly on his robe, pausing as he stumbled toward her. He still looked ahead, staring at the hallway like it was the most interesting thing on the planet.

"Look at me when I am speaking to you."

"No." His voice rumbled through the hall, echoing like distant thunder. She felt a shiver of something forbidden sneak up her spine. She tugged again, fighting against him as he tried to pull away. Her free hand shot around his wrist just as the material of his robes slipped from her other hand. He only made it a step further before she stopped him. Another spark of anger flickered in his eyes before they fell back to the muted gray.

Dangerous. Back away, her body warned.

"No?" He did not get to do this. Everyone else could change. Everyone else could become someone new and different. But not him. And certainly not to whatever hollow shell she had encountered in this hallway. She wanted a fight and Merlin be damned she was going to get it. He owed it to her.

"No," he repeated through clenched teeth, his tendons tensing under her hand. "Let go of me, Granger."

"Not until you look at me."

She tugged his wrist down, pulling his body closer. Closer than she intended. With barely a foot between them his body turned toward hers, eyes cast to the floor. Her brain woke, the constant fog around it lifting for one moment in the face of peril. She knew she was playing with fire, especially being alone. But she would have her answer one way or another.

With agonizing slowness he looked up, trailing from her feet and following the path of her body. His expression seemed so flat and for a moment she thought for sure she had reached another dead end. Another piece that did slot so perfectly into the puzzle with the rest of them that she would have to give up and just accept that she just didn't like the image.

But the moment his gaze touched her face his eyes flashed with lightning. Fear shot thin shocks down her spine at the complex, powerful emotions that until this moment had remained veiled. She was suddenly aware of how much taller he was than her. How much stronger. But she was faster. She could see the fight in her mind, the way she would beat him to the draw and dive off to the left since he was right handed. She knew what spells she would cast and for once her brain felt like it used to, flickering through thoughts as naturally as a fish in water.

"Fucking. What." he breathed, almost panting as his eyes promised a very painful sort of death. It sent her heart racing, as her mind cataloged the exits. Yes, he did not quite fit, did he?

"Why?" she demanded, clenching his wrist too tightly. If he noticed, he didn't care. His mouth flicked up into a snarl.

"Why what?"

"You have to ask?" she scoffed, pulling at him until inches separated them, sending her blood searing through her veins which begged her to run or fight. His was hot against her nose.

"Why did you let us go?"

"I did nothing of the sort," he responded sharply.

"You knew. You knew it couldn't be anyone else." Her grip tightened again. "So Why. Didn't. You. Tell?"

There, another flash of something. Just as quickly, it was gone, his hackles lowering and his eyes glazing back over to the color of concrete. She could barely contain a whine at the loss, like a child who had just broken a new toy. She tugged him again but this time he didn't budge.

"Don't know," he said, eyes drifting back down the hallway. "Just didn't."

She scowled at him, hating what he had turned back into. She wanted to hit him just to make him hit back. She wanted to duel until her magic was gone and then pound his face into the concrete until her muscles collapsed.

"Can I go now, Granger? The feast has started," he asked

Like a doll.

Suddenly the fog was back, covering her brain and surrounding her in apathy. She released his wrist, flexing her hand at the stiffness. He was boring again. And that made her dull.

"Yeah, Malfoy, you can go."

She stepped back with an exhale, not even caring if he reported it. Not that he would.

"Enjoy your feast, one of us should."

And for a moment she had hope. Life returned to his eyes, something curious or indignant. Something that would force him to demand answers. But it faded before she could even wrap her hand around her wand. He nodded briefly and slunk back to the shadows while Hermione turned back to the Great Hall, their footsteps echoing against each other in the empty hall.

00000000000000000000000000

"Hermione?"

Hermione jerked up from her book, scowling as the bite of egg she was taking splattered on her robes. She glared up to meet Seamus slowly taking a step back with his hands raised in defense. "Woah, sorry. I- uh… Didn't mean to surprise you."

"You didn't surprise me." She tried to keep the bite out of her voice and let her shoulders relax, her wand sliding away under the table, far too keen for a fight for her own good. She forced herself to shake off the fog from her brain to respond. "I was just really focused. You know how I get when I read."

"Of course I do," Seamus chuckled lightly, sliding across from her and next to Ron, who simply pat him on the back before returning to his breakfast. He looked at her book in confusion. "But you have been on the same page for the last 10 minutes so I figured you were just daydreaming."

"I don't daydream." She smiled tightly. A smile she didn't quite feel. "I was just thinking about what I was reading."

"Uh…" Seamus glanced at Harry sitting just past Ron then back to her. "But… when you do that you usually chew on something. Your lip, your quill, your nail. Something like that." Did she? She hadn't noticed. But apparently Seamus of all people had. "Everyone in Gryffindor knows better than to bother you when you have that look on your face. I just thought-"

"What do you want, Finnigan?"

This time she failed to keep the ice from her voice and she saw him flinch. The table falling silent for a few people in each direction.

"Sorry. Uh. I just was wondering if you had your note from Transfiguration last—" She summoned them to the table with a thunk. Landing on the empty plate in front of him.

"Anything else?"

"Er… Thanks. No," he murmured, gathering up the notes with another glance at Harry. Even Ron was watching the exchange cautiously.

"Goodbye Seamus," she hinted, looking back down to her book on… dolphins? Why was she reading a book on dolphins? Although she supposed dolphins could be magical. They were remarkably intelligent by muggle standards, perhaps wizards—

"Sorry mate." Harry's voice floated past her mind like a thread. She latched on. "She… she gets like that sometimes. We find it's best not to—"

"It's fine. I get it. Tell her I will return them after Charms."

Hot anger burned her back to awareness, sparking along her nerves like gunpowder. Seamus wandered away and Harry sat back down. She waited until the conversation at the table started back up again before carefully closing her book. Harry and Ron both watched her cautiously, having been on the receiving end of the anger more times than she could count this summer.

"I appreciate you defending me," she ground out, not appreciating it at all. "But I can fight my own battles, thank you very much."

"Seamus was just—" Ron started.

"I know," she huffed, trying not to draw the attention of anyone else at the table. "I know."

"Hermione," Harry sighed, glancing to where Seamus exited the hall. "Are you o-"

"Fine." She cleared her throat making a show of returning to normal. She held the anger close to her chest, missing the clear moments so much she didn't want to give them up. "I'm fine. Thank you for asking."

"Uh," Ron cleared his throat looking down at his breakfast, a bit green. He bit out the words like they were poison. "Maybe… Maybe you should go see George again."

He coughed as the tips of his ears turned red. And just like that the anger left her, setting her drifting again. Still, her heart warmed to him for offering the suggestion, even though he hated it. And even though she wouldn't use it.

"Maybe I will." She lied.

But the suggestion had the desired effect. Both Ron and Harry relaxed as Ginny sat down with a yawn. Hermione let her attention float away from the conversation about strange dreams and first days to drift around the Great Hall, eyes catching on anything interesting, then discarding it just as quickly. Suddenly, her breath stuttered, boiling mercury caught her attention and she zeroed in on the clenched jaw and his slow blink. It was gone just as quickly as he turned to a younger Slytherin, with that fucking flat look on his face. She smiled to herself, the fire stoking again. She knew he was in there.

0000000000000000000000000000000

She didn't see him again until the next day, her mind sparking like a live wire the second she could catch a glimpse of him in the halls or at meals. When she entered the dungeons for potions, her breath caught. Her pulse hammered at her skin as her eyes took in every detail around her, carefully analyzing and storing it.

He sat next to a Slytherin at the side of the room as Professor Slughorn charmed a piece of chalk to write out the instructions on the board. He scratched absent-mindedly at a piece of parchment with his cheek resting on his left hand.

"Miss Granger!" Professor Slughorn exclaimed in delight. He didn't jump, or even move, really. But even from a distance she could see the thick black line that suddenly scratched across his doodle. "So good to see you back. I have missed my little Potions Mistress. Now tell me, do you intend to finish your mastery after school?"

She spoke with Professor Slughorn until the start of class. Harry and Ron partnered up and Ginny made no complaint when Hermione insisted on the desk on the other side of the aisle behind him. Slughorn threw them into the proverbial fire with a differentacious potion. Ginny was thrilled to be taking most of her classes with the three of them, and to be quite honest Hermione was just grateful to have a competent partner for once. Especially one that didn't seem to notice the way Hermione's eyes flicked to the Slytherin side every now and again.

"I don't have enough Murplap spikes," Ginny grumbled from where she was stirring the cauldron in confusion. Hermione noted the sky blue color instead of the rich sapphire they were going for and glanced up at the board.

"We should… Oh I see. The recipe calls for dorsal spikes, we used tail spikes," Hermione said. "I'll go grab enough to make up for the difference."

"Thank Merlin," Ginny said as she reversed the stir. "It would have taken me ages to figure that out. You're a treat, Hermione."

Hermione smiled softly and puttered back to the stock room. She and Ginny had started right away but the other students weren't far behind. As soon as they started to notice the error it would be a mad scramble for the cabinet and she would be left with scraps. She tapped out the spikes from the canister onto a piece of parchment when a throat cleared.

"May I have that when you are done?"

She froze, glancing up at Malfoy as he stood a few feet away, that same placid look on his face. Who did he think he was fooling? Merlin, he was infuriating.

She glanced down at the parchment, sweeping her selection into her bare hand, not even flinching as one or two dug into her skin. She set the canister back on the shelf and turned back to him with a triumphant grin on her face.

"There you go, Malfoy," she huffed, waiting for the barb. She tried not to let her face fall when he just sighed and stepped back, waving her through. She raised an eyebrow at him and planted her feet, baiting out any sort of response. He stared at her, unmoving trying to wait her out.

When she didn't move, his jaw twitched and he stepped forward, reaching behind her, pulling out the spikes without a flicker of emotion. She considered throwing the spikes at his face when a flash of color on his wrist caught her attention.

A deep purple ring in the shape of a hand blossomed against his skin as he began to tap out the ingredient. The edges had begun to fade to a yellowish green that looked sickly and painful. Almost immediately, she felt her stomach turn. That nasty little flip that she hadn't felt since the war when she was stealing eggs from a farmhouse. She let out a gasp just as he pulled down his shirt cuff, hiding the evidence.

"I- I didn't mean to…"

He stared at her, his eyes narrowed. That oh-so-tempting cloud of anger gathering around him.

"I find that no one means anything Granger," he growled, holding the arm close to his side. Before she could respond she heard a concerned-sounding Ginny call her name from the classroom. When she looked back to Malfoy he was carefully tapping out spikes.

Justin Steele appeared in the doorway, humming to himself about the variation of tail versus dorsal spikes. He smiled at Hermione before frowning at the student behind her.

"Always first to catch on, aren't you Hermione?" The Ravenclaw chirped cheerfully.

"Not lately..." she murmured as he looked pointedly at the canister in Malfoy's hand before wandering to the cabinet.

"Have you seen murplap spikes?" he questioned oddly, considering he had just seen Malfoy using them.

"Er- yes. Malfoy—"

The blond in question sighed, setting down the canister and turning towards the door.

"Oh, there they are!" Justin laughed, grabbing the canister from the table. "I swear this place is haunted with how many things move in this stockroom."

Before she could respond the rest of the class began to filter in. She slipped out of the stock room, a dull ache of pain bloomed in her chest, and this time it did nothing to help her focus.

0000000000000000000000000000

Hermione was thinking on a rather complex Arithmancy equation a week later as she walked down the hall with Harry. He had asked her about how the angle of casting a spell can affect the rebound and she was still thinking about it when she unwittingly slammed into a bony mass of robes and silk.

"Merlin, Granger. Watch where you are going."

She slowly pulled her mind away from the problem just as Harry came trotting back. She supposed she had fallen behind and he failed to notice. There was a flash of silky black hair in front of her struggling to her feet. Oh, Parkinson.

"Sorry, Pansy." Harry said, sliding a hand under Hermione's arm, prodding her to her feet. Pansy shook out her robes with a few strong flicks of her wrist. "She was just—"

"Drunk?" Pansy suggested as a boy, Zabini, handed her a fallen book. "I don't care. Keep your space-case in line, Potter." She huffed and with a twist of her heel she was gone. Hermione breathed out, focusing on Harry as he muttered.

"Sorry. I didn't notice you'd—-"

"It's fine," she mumbled.

She got on her knees to pick up her belongings. He dropped down to help her. Why did she have so many quills? Right, she'd borrowed them and forgotten to give them back.

Lavender must be furious with me…

"Don't listen to Pansy. There's nothing wrong with you."

"Sure, Harry."

She ignored the way his shoulders tensed, the crease in his forehead. She opened her bag and he put the quills in before she pulled it over her shoulder.

"Let's head to Charms.".

"Er…" Harry paused, scratching the back of his head. "Defense Against the Dark Arts was our last class of the day, actually. It's about time to head to dinner."

She glanced out at the setting sun, filtering in from the courtyard. "Right. Sorry. I get Tuesday and Wednesday mixed up. Too many courses."

She kept walking, even when she heard him whisper under his breath, "It's Thursday."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chatting with Om
> 
> Definitions:
> 
> Differentacious Potion: A potion that when poured on two similar objects will highly the differences between them. It is useful for artifact validation as well as quality control.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will not be art for every chapter. (I am pretty sure.) Do you all prefer it before or after the chapter?

It was a Hogsmeade weekend and she was supposed to go with the boys and Ginny. But then she had gotten distracted following a long set of tapestries that showed the story of the Troll War of 1412, which incidentally ended at a familiar scene of the creatures tap dancing in celebration before the final assault that wiped out all but the mountain tribes. When the great clock chimed twice she realized she was long past late. She considered not going, just continuing down the line of troll tapestries and finishing out the history. But if she didn’t appear they would be worried, and they were already worried enough. She was sick of worrying; she needed just one person to not treat her like glass. She wanted someone she could spar with, someone who could act like she hadn’t changed. She’d take anyone, at this point.

Turning to start the long walk to Hogsmeade alone, she caught sight of the opposite wall where a door appeared. She flinched, wondering what the Room of Requirement had summoned for her and if she should walk away. It was that tell tale spark at the back of her mind that had her cautiously gliding towards the door. It was a question she didn’t have an answer to, something that would bother her all day if she didn’t know. For a moment she felt like her old self, and that was good enough for now.

Her hand rested on the door. She felt equal parts concerned and eager as she let the weight of it turn the knob. The door creaked quietly, and billowing smoke drifted out around her, curling around the hall like a content kitten. She swallowed and inhaled the cool, damp air. Gripping her wand in her hand, she stepped into the room, curious to see what exactly Hogwarts thought she needed.

**0000000000000000**

Draco Malfoy was sick, absolutely sick, of his life. He didn’t want to be here, pretending he was just another student, that his life was in any way normal. He wanted to retreat to his manor and spend the rest of the days of his life as a mysterious, old, rich man who never left his home until the Malfoy line died with him. But the Ministry wouldn’t even let him do that.

Instead, he was back at a school full of people who hated him but pretended not to see him in the name of moving on. Well, he didn’t want to move on. He wanted half of the members of his house to stop looking at him like he wasn’t there and the other half to stop treating him like a defeated hero waiting to rise again. He wanted to feel like shit and just be angry at the world. He would have taken the trip to Azkaban to rot in a cell for his crimes if it meant he could go outside without hearing about someone’s dead family. But then Potter and his ridiculous friends had to go and earn him freedom, even though he didn’t want it. 

When he saw Granger in the hallway that one night he thought maybe, maybe there was someone who still loathed him. Someone who wasn’t just going to brush everything under the rug and could fucking fight back. His blood sang at the idea of someone challenging him, especially her, with that admittedly sharp wit and barbed tongue. She wasn’t one to shy away from physical violence, either. 

He would have never expected that over everyone else, she would be the one to not let go. She was always the soft one. He would have expected her forgiveness without even having to ask. Even though he didn’t deserve it and she had every reason to still hate him, he would still have her forgiveness because it was ‘the right thing to do,’ or some such nonsense.

When he felt that crushing pressure on his bones, it sent pure panic coursing through his veins. It was almost pleasing to see that righteous anger slashed across her face like battle paint. His wand was gripped so hard in his pocket he thought it may snap. He felt awake, alive and wholly in control. He was ready for anything... and then she let go. She gave up. She faded back to that infuriatingly stupid-looking chit who wandered the halls in a stolen body. Terribly disappointed, he drifted through his classes like a forgotten ghost. And yet, even now he could stare at his wrist; the faint yellowing of the skin nearly faded. A reminder that someone out there was still holding him accountable. That someone remembered who he was and seethed over it. It wasn’t a nice feeling, not at all. But at least it was something. 

He had considered baiting her, just to get that one predictable reaction, even for a moment. But he knew how unfair it was. While he may as well be a ghost, she was nothing but a shadow. He silently watched her for days, waiting for his opportunity to catch her alone, hoping a hex or two would be enough to kickstart his soul again. But it became very apparent that whatever Granger had become, it was nothing compared to what she used to be. There were a few moments every now and again when she was so angry he could practically feel the magic rolling off her body from across the Great Hall. No one else appeared to notice, but to him it might as well have been the smell of fresh brewed coffee, drawing him out of whatever state of sleep he spent the rest of his life in. When that rage was reflected on Finnigan, he cursed himself for missing whatever the walking disaster had done to set her off. But just as soon as it had started, it was gone, and she was back to the empty husk drifting around the school.

A week later he was still hating her for it. The thought of Hogsmeade sickened him. As did the idea of younger years sneaking into various empty corridors with most of the student body gone, fumbling around with first kisses and awkward flirting. So he waited until his dorm mates left, got dressed, and wandered through the corridors, sticking to out-of-the-way passages and shadows.

He came to his old room, thinking very strongly about how he needed to hide himself. Much to his surprise, the room that appeared was not full of towering stacks of ash. Instead, when he stepped into the Room of Hidden Things, he found himself in a dimly lit gray area with drifting mist, too thick to be fog but too low to be clouds. He meandered to the center of the space, trying to figure out what it was telling him. A torn couch appeared from the air. He grimaced at the general state of disrepair before he settled on it, content to fold his arms behind him and pass away the hours until nightfall charming lights above his head in and out of existence. 

Two hours later, just as he was beginning to drift off, the door opened. He rolled off the couch into a crouch, taking cover in the quickly depleting clouds. He heard the door shut, and the light in the room brightened to a clear, sky blue. He rolled his eyes.

“What in the hell is this supposed to mean?” He heard a girl mutter, her footsteps echoing against the stone. He sighed and stood, pulling his body above his cover.

She stood waist-deep in a bank of white, her wild hair catching droplets of condensation as a large puff of cloud drifted behind her. She was thinner than she should be, her wrists far too breakable to control her suddenly feral temper. A thick, corded jumper hid most of her frame, giving her the general impression of a dowdy housewife.

He schooled his face back to the bland mask he always wore around people, even as he took great satisfaction in watching her jump. Her anger was back, lapping against his skin in direct contrast to the cool air. He did his best to hide the shiver running down his spine as she glowered at him, her wand drawn.

“Malfoy,” she hissed. 

Ah, he loved that sound, so full of condemnation and hate. It was quite validating. She sounded like she belonged among snakes when she did that. Though, he supposed cats hissed too.

“Don’t ignore me,” she spat. her eyes sparking violently. 

She was suddenly safe to prod, no longer a doll. A fair target to pick to pick a fight with.

“You are beneath my notice,” he remarked, maintaining his mask while he cackled wildly on the inside. She stomped forward with the grace of an erumpent, huffing almost as loudly as one. Deep pleasure flowed through his chest, uncurling like a cat in the sun. This, yes, this was normal. This he could control.

“Wipe that look off your face,” she growled.

“What look?” he questioned.

She lifted her wand, aiming it directly at his shoulder. He felt the sharp stab of a stinging hex hit his collar bone. His lip twitched slightly, but he didn’t move otherwise. She was so cloyingly predictable in her anger.

"Draw your wand," she commanded.

A sourceless wind pulled up the fog and obscured his view. He expected her to disappear, or to hex him. It was the smart thing to do, really. When the cloud dissipated, she was standing exactly where she had been, her eyes trained on him. 

“No, I don’t think I will.” 

He tucked his hands into his pockets, if only to prove the point. A knock back curse hit his chest, prodding him to stumble. 

She was looking for a fight. He could give her one. It was tempting to duel with all his might and crush that know-it-all attitude under his heel. But something about the way she was standing, her magic flaring uncontrollably around her with just a touch of madness in her eyes, cautioned him to still. There was something wrong with her, something his mind told him to heed. If only to watch her implode.

“Draw your wand.” she hissed, taking another step closer.

“Hex me all you want, Granger. I am not going to fight you.” 

A slicing hex glanced off his cheek and he felt the warm blood seep down his skin, tracing the outline of his jaw. The adrenaline coursing through him screamed to fight but that new very quiet voice that had appeared over the summer bid him ‘“steady on.”

"React!" she screamed. The sound bounced off the walls around them, seeming wholly out-of-place in the peaceful, blue sky. 

"Why?" He mocked.

With another step, her wand was only inches from his throat. He loved the way her body pulsed with life. She panted heavily, her pupils so wide that the black almost overtook the brown. She looked nothing like she usually did, when she wandered the castle absently, causing everyone to wonder if their world had lost yet another great mind. She stared at him without fear, the tip of her wand now pushing against his jugular, a graceless snarl on her face. She was so expressive; she would have made a terrible Slytherin.

“Because I hate you!”

“Why?” he asked, resisting the urge to wipe at the blood dripping down his chin.

“Why?” she repeated. Her voice was so light he wouldn’t have heard her if she weren’t standing entirely too close to be safe. “Because you are a violent, foul, bigoted monster who got away with it only because Harry has a soft spot for your mother. People died because of you! And you get to stand here when they will never open their eyes again. You don’t deserve to be here. You don’t deserve a second chance! The world would be better if you rolled up in a hole and died.”

She stared up at him expectantly, smiling wildly. The look wouldn’t be out of place on Aunt Bella. He kept his face frozen, cocking it to the side as he watched her calmly, the smile slowly fading as her eyes tracked another drop of blood. He glanced down as it fell, peppering his tie and mixing silver with wine.

“So kill me then.” She flinched and took a half a step back and lowered her wand slightly. “If you blame me for all of this, then kill me.”

He watched something crack in her, not enough to break, but just enough to cast doubt. Merlin’s might, she was a wreck. He was too, in all honesty, but everyone had expected that. But they had not expected it from Hermione Granger, the shining star of the Lions Three. With her falling apart, he felt like he had been given front row tickets to the demolition of the Taj Mahal. A beautiful tragedy, even in its demise, but he was still unable to look away. 

She pulled back her shoulders, regarding him with suspicion.

“I’m not a killer; not like you.”

“Am I?” he responded. 

He regretted the flash of anger that leaked out. A slight tug at the corner of her mouth disappeared so quickly he almost missed it. She looked smug, validated.  _ Bitch. _

“Well, if not, you’re a pretty shite Death Eater, aren’t you, Malfoy?” she muttered.

“Historically speaking, yes,” he responded. If she was shocked by the admission, she didn’t show it. That brain of hers was spinning in circles so quickly he could practically see it.

“So then  _ why _ ?” she questioned. She stepped forward until her face was mere inches from his, her wand still digging into his neck, a bead of blood branching to down the gnarled… oak? Holly? She  _ would _ have a sappy, sentimental base like that. Probably with a dragon’s heartstring, for her bravery or some bullshit. 

She was begging for a reaction, any reaction at all. For him to step back or push her away. He wouldn’t give it to her. The very second he did, he would no longer be an unanswered question and she would go straight back to being the lifeless husk ghosting through the corridors. So he didn’t respond and stared at the mahogany curl that slipped across her eye that shifted with each breath.

“I don’t understand you,” she admitted. The statement sent a warm wave of satisfaction through his chest. “You sit there surrounded by a second chance, a scott free getaway that few could pull off. No one openly bothers or blames you. As a matter of fact, you may as well not exist at all. And yet you pretend to be just as empty as I am, but I know you aren’t. So, why Malfoy? If you feel nothing and have never felt anything, then why bother saving us?”

There was a right answer; he was sure of it. Maybe if he were more put together, or if it weren’t her asking, in all of her wild and crazed glory, he would have been able to find one. Instead, his mask slipped, a harsh smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he leaned in until all he could see was her eyes.

“I’ll never tell.” 

There was a moment, just a quarter of a second, where he thought he had won. Where fury had overtaken the chocolate brown and chased it into a honey amber. A moment where he was sure she would fall off the edge of madness and hit him hard enough that he could actually feel acknowledged by someone. He was wholly unprepared when her eyes blinked shut and her lips pressed softly against his.

The rational part of his mind flew away as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling their bodies flush. Whatever strands of self control he had left snapped violently as the room pulled up walls of clouds, trapping them in a vortex of soft white.

This was not how it was supposed to go. How fucking  _ dare  _ she. She was supposed to hate him, to curse him, to offer some condemnation that no one else deigned to give. She had slipped past his carefully built walls that held back his anger, and that infuriated him. She didn't get to come in, promising violence and pain, and then kiss him like she  _ cared _ . 

No. The game was still in play, but it was his move, now.

His hand slipped into her hair, pulling tightly near the base. A pained gasp escaped her, halting her movement. He smiled, stealing the control and sliding his tongue into her mouth, giving her no room to argue. If she hated him, fine. He hated himself too so at least she was in good company.

She scratched at his neck, her nails digging feebly into his skin. Like she didn’t have it in her to fight. And didn’t that piss him off all the more.  _ Fine. _ He was good at taking, and if that wasn’t what she came for, then it was her own damn fault for starting something she couldn’t finish. If she wanted soft and careful she should have baited him.

His hand grasped at her arse, smirking at the fearful little gasp that escaped her. She would run any minute, terrified of the monster she wanted him to be. It was a part he could play as naturally as fucking breathing. She would fold, and he would win. She would either report him and he would be expelled, or she would be unable to look at him in the eye for the rest of the year, a constant reminder of his victory. Both results were satisfying in different ways, and he wasn’t particularly sure which he would prefer. Gryfindors were so predictably black and white.

His victory was ruined as she kissed back, her body molding around his. It felt so very natural it took him a moment to remember why it was a problem. 

As if on fire, he pushed her away, wincing as she fell to the floor with a yelp. Her skirt was tacked high on her legs with a forbidden flash of black peeking out. She was breathing harshly as she watched him, eyes dark. His blood had smeared across the side of her face and neck like a macabre hand print. He choked trying to regain his own breath as he took a step away.

“W-what the fuck Granger?” he questioned, eyes shooting toward the door. 

She smiled, hanging her wrist over her knees, and he almost pulled her back to him right then just to wipe that smug look off of her face. It was the same look she got when she knew an answer before anyone else had found it. She looked up at him, smirking as if she were so high above him he had no idea where she even stood.

“I’ll never tell,” she breathed, her eyes sparkling in delight. 

His feet moved, carrying him to the door as her laughter followed him into the hall. He wanted to scream, to growl, to make her remember that playing with him was dangerous. That sweet girls like her had no business challenging him. By the time he made it back to the dungeons, he could still hear the blood rushing in his ears.

  
  
  


**Chats with Om**

Q and A?

Ask some questions, get some answers.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione felt more normal than she had in weeks. She had won and sent him scurrying for the dungeons in a panic. Her skin felt like it was glowing and her heart beat wildly in her chest. She hadn’t _really_ intended to kiss him, of course. She was just going to question him, but when she saw that smug fucking smirk on his face, she just had to do something. Maybe she could have hexed him and gotten a similar reaction, but she doubted it. He wouldn’t have stumbled backwards in the same way, eyes blown wide at his own actions. The fact he had kissed her back had been odd, though. Not that she was going to waste the day trying to figure out the inner-workings of a Malfoy mind.

Once she had left the room, she went straight down to Hogsmeade and wandered around the village, enjoying the clear weather as much as her clear mind. She found the other three at the Hog’s Head with Luna, Neville, Hannah, and other members of the old DA. Aberforth’s pub had become something of a local haunt for the not-quite-yet-adults to congregate. Hermione laughed uproariously at stories and met the members that joined last year with a grin. She wasn’t even annoyed when they stared at her with something akin to awe. When Seamus left she tried to catch him to apologize for earlier in the week but he was gone before she could grab him. 

It was exactly as Neville was telling an amusing story about Herbology that Hermione realized that she was relaxed, focused, and even happy for the first time in months. Surrounded by her friends, she felt like she was flexing wings that she hadn’t remembered she even had.

00000000000

She walked through the halls the next day half listening to Ron, Ginny and Harry argue about Quidditch when the first scream broke through the air. Before anyone else could move, Hermione had turned with her wand drawn and taken off towards the source. The belated crashing sound sent the other three charging into action, steps behind her.

Following the accompanying rush of students fleeing the scene, she slid to a stop just outside the foyer of the Great Hall. A sixth year Ravenclaw boy was fending off nasty looking jinxes as they flew at him. A third year in green robes was throwing spells faster than Hermione could track, a cowering second year Hufflepuff on the ground behind her. Hermione cast her own _protego_ just as a spell ricocheted towards her. The spell glanced off her shield and slammed into the wall behind her in a dangerous burst of flame and heat. 

“ _Silencio!”_ She cast over the whole area, the dueling students and spectators alike falling into a hush. Three blue shots of spellfire exploded from behind her, each hitting their targets. Wands flew gracefully into the hands of her friends behind her. 

“Twenty points for dueling in the halls from Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Ravenclaw. Prefects, grab your housemates,” Hermione said.

The Ravenclaw held his arms up in the air and attempted to say something. 

Cancelling her spell, Hermione ignored him and spoke over the crowd. “Alright. Now someone tell me what happened he-” 

“You stay away from her!” The Slytherin screamed viscously at the other boy. The sound clashed with the gentle way she helped the Hufflepuff behind her to a stand. “Don’t you ever speak to her again!”

“I was just trying to apolo-” the Ravenclaw started before he was interrupted.

“I don’t care. You can’t apologize enough to undo what you did. I hope it eats at you for the rest of your life! I hope it rots your soul until there is nothing left!” she hissed. She pulled the Huffelpuff to her feet, murmuring soft things. 

The older boy looked haunted, his protest dying on his lips as Luna rested a hand on his shoulder with a sad smile. Ron threw the boy’s wand to her and she caught it before waving to Hermione. She turned to her charge, whispering something until he followed her further down the hall. 

A similar scene played out on the other side of the hall, Blaise Zabini guiding the Slytherin and Hufflepuff by the shoulder off to a bench just inside the Great Hall. Harry jogged over, handing off the wands with little conversation.

“Don’t you all have somewhere to be?” Hermione snapped at the remaining spectators. The hall cleared out quickly, students running to spread the news of the illicit duel. As the crowd broke up, she caught sight of Neville leaning against the wall. His jaw was set tightly and his hands were clenched into fists. Trusting the Prefects to report later, she walked over to Neville, settling herself next to him.

“What happened?” she asked.

“The Ravenclaw is Casey Bowers. He had to practice the Cruciatus Curse on the Hufflepuff firsty last year. I think the Slytherin may be her cousin.” 

“Why did he-”

“The Carrows were vicious. I was the only one who refused every time. It’s not something I blame him for.” 

Hermione flinched at the bland way he talked, like he could only speak by being detached. Ginny hesitantly joined the Zabini and his charges, nodding awkwardly to the Slytherin. They watched the Hufflepuff girl throw her arms around Ginny’s neck and sob against her. 

“Couldn’t…. Couldn’t they fake it?” Hermione questioned.

“Some of the younger ones couldn’t sell it. If the Carrows caught you trying, you were both punished… It was safer not to.”

Hermione shivered as she thought of the burning pain coursing through her bones that made her feel as if her skin had been flipped outside of her body and she was dropped in a pit of salt. She rubbed at her arm self-consciously. 

“Neville, I-”

“Don’t. It won't be the last time you see it. Just try to keep them away from each other. It’s the best you can do.”

He pushed off the wall and walked away, a slight limp to his gait. She kept her position until Luna and Zabini both reported their sides of the story. Ultimately she left it at the point docking, warning both prefects to keep an eye on either charge. She imagined that no one involved would be sleeping tonight.

0000000000000000000000000000

She was right. By the end of Sunday she could barely focus long enough to eat during dinner. To add insult to injury, it was like her mind knew it was functioning at half capacity during the day because it kicked into overdrive at night when the castle was quiet and calm. The duel rotated in her mind like a spinning top, crashing across her thoughts as it spun.

Thankfully, unlike at the Burrow, where she stared at Ginny’s ceiling until daybreak (lest she woke anyone else up with her problems), here she had her own room. Michale slept like the dead, so as long as she was quiet leaving the Head’s common room, he never seemed to notice her late night wanderings. To appease her guilt for only being half aware the rest of the time, she performed Head Girl duties while out, noting any repairs needed in the castle and taking late rounds from otherwise exhausted Prefects. 

  
  


It was this behavior that led to her meandering the corridors in the place of a very tired pair of Huffepuff prefects. It was a bit past one, and the castle was mostly quiet. 

She was admiring a rather lewd mosaic of a mermaid and a manticore (that honestly had no business in school where eleven years olds wandered about) when she heard a distinct shuffling sound. 

She heard a light shuffle of footsteps behind her. For a moment she was certain that the school had a ghoul, as the sound was reminiscent of the one in the Burrow’s attic. It was only as she rounded the corner, armed with a quick stunning spell, that she realized how bizarre the idea was. She cast a quick _lumos_ down the hall, and sure enough, she was met by a shambling student in Slytherin robes, his arm raised to shield his eyes from the bright light.

“That's ten points from Slytherin for being out of bounds after hours,” Hermione said as she walked closer. Judging from his weedy appearance, she guessed him to be either a fifth or sixth year, still waiting to fill out. That would put him at least four hours past curfew, which had no real explanation other than mischief.

“You better have a good reason to-” She gasped when the boy dropped his sleeve from his face, revealing a swollen, shut eye and busted lip.

“Oh sweet Merlin!” she cried. 

Panic kicking into overdrive, she scurried forward with her wand at the ready. The boy threw his hands up in the air immediately, a few messy dark curls falling onto his forehead and obscuring his one good eye.

“I’m unarmed,” he murmured. He jerked his head to the left to clear his vision only to wince at the pain. Hermione continued her stomp toward him, heedless of his statement. Just short of a few feet, she heard him continue. “Fuck, not you, too.”

“Language,” she muttered, only half meaning it. 

When she reached his side she squinted at the damage. It seemed mostly surface-level and wasn’t anything too emergent. She lifted her wand, the tip of it glowing as she lowered the brightness of her lumos to a less jarring level.

“Oh come on, Granger. I’m not sure I can survive if you start on me tonight, too.”

She let the spell die out, blinking at him owlishly.

“Have we met?” she asked. She stared at him, trying to parse out any level of familiarity. He had deep blue eyes and what might have been brown hair, it was hard to tell in the light. Perhaps he had been on the Slytherin Quidditch team? She didn’t know many of the younger years in her own house let alone the other ones. The only exception being the Creevy boys and… well…

“I am not sure if I should be proud or offended,” he grumbled. He stood in awkward silence as if he wasn’t sure what to do. Hermione bridged the gap, sliding her wand back into her pocket and trying to force away the awkwardness so that she could convince him to go to Madam Pomfrey. She stuck her hand into the empty air between them.

“I apologize if we have met. My memory is not what it used to be. I’m Hermione Granger. Head Girl and Gryffindor sev- eighth year.”

“I- what?” The boy looked at her arm like it was the most confusing thing on the planet. The older Slytherins were still skittish around her, but the younger ones had really started to come around once they realized she wasn’t going to hex them. Something that was disturbing in its own right. “Granger. We have had classes together since first year.”

_He was an eighth year?_ She squinted at his somewhat shocked face trying to place him. Really, she couldn’t recall. As far as she knew the only Slytherin boys who had returned were Malfoy, Zabini and… did Goyle come back? No, she was pretty sure he was in Azkaban. She had heard stories from Neville that curled her toes.

“Am I really that forgettable?” he groaned. His posture relaxed as he realized she wasn’t going to be hexing him. He drug his hand over his face only to hiss as he remembered his injuries.

“I’m sorry…” She blushed, more than a bit embarrassed at her faulty memory. She tried to pull her arm back just as he grabbed her hand hesitantly.

“Theo Nott.” 

It took her mind a minute to connect the dots, and she couldn’t help the way her hand flew to her wand. Quickly catching the motion she was surprised to see him, not draw his own, but to throw his hands back up in the air as he blurted out, “I’m not my father!”

The statement hung in the air even as the clock tower boomed the hour, the echoing gong highlighting the emptiness of the corridor. A dark hood and silver mask. A memory of a stooped man with gray hair catching one of her stunning spells after grabbing Harry in the Department of Mysteries. A flash of green flying over Ron’s head during the battle of Hogwarts. His son… standing before her with no one nearby.

“I’m not my father,” he said again, this time much more calmly. 

She held her breath as Hogwarts settled back into its peaceful silence, trying to fight away fear and replace it with logic. She took a moment to examine him. He was injured and too-thin, with a natural reaction to de-escalate, even after a war. He hadn’t hexed her when he had the chance and had even shook her hand. Not something that a pureblood supremacist would condone.

She forced herself to release her wand, repeating McGonagall’s words of unity and open mindedness from the welcoming feast to herself. The headmistress had said it was why neither Harry or Ron could be trusted to be Head Boy. Grades aside.

“I… correct me if I am wrong. We haven’t actually ever met, have we?”

“We just did now, and you wanted to hex me, so I can’t really consider that a travesty,” he responded. The harshness of his statement was belied by a boyish smile. “I don’t think we have even spoken to each other after eight years of this place. Shall we try again?”

“Right, sorry.” 

Hermione cleared her throat, trying to fight down the shame. Her memories of the boy were mostly that he was a loner. Frequently seen in proximity to Malfoy, but only as house unity dictated. As a whole, he was a fairly uninvolved party in her childhood torment, as far as Slytherins went. She elected to pick the most neutral memory she could.

“You used to spend a lot of time in the library,” she said finally. 

“I was always terrible at Care Magical Creatures,” he agreed. 

“Is that what happened to your face tonight?” she questioned, attempting a joke to lighten the mood. When a flicker of darkness fell over his face, she could tell that had failed. 

“You weren’t the first one to see my father in me tonight,” he muttered. 

His face turned down to stare at the stone beneath him. She winced, hating how much more dangerous conversations had become since she was a child. 

“We should get you to the hospital wing,” she murmured.

“I’ll be okay,” he responded. “I’m pretty good with healing spells at this point, no need to bother the Matron.”

“Will you at least tell me who it was?” she questioned. 

“Will it even matter?” he replied softly, rubbing the back of his head. She regarded him with the same look that usually cowed Harry and Ron until she was forced to give up. 

“Fine,” she said. 

After years of Ron and Harry being hard-headed mules, she could identify a losing battle when she saw one. Hermione pulled out her wand again and frowned when he flinched. With careful wand motions, she cast an _episkey_ on his eye and lip. Recalling the shuffling sound, she could guess that there was something else wrong, as well, but she had no interest in undressing random Slytherins in the middle of the corridor if she could help it. 

“Well, I will walk you to the dungeon stairs.”

“Er, thanks but you don’t have-” This time the look quelled him and he wisely fell silent as they carefully shuffled toward the dungeons. They didn’t speak, but by the time they had reached the descending stairwell, the awkward silence had worn away to a comfortable one. She helped support him while descending the stairs. When they reached the bottom she shrugged off his arm, making sure he was stable before taking a step away. 

“You’re not…. What I was told you were,” he said.

“Funny that,” she agreed. “You’ll be okay the rest of the way?”

“Yeah.” he responded. “I am sure you are way past your usual bedtime. Thanks for staying up to heal my sorry self.”

“Any time,” she answered sincerely as she watched him lumber away. 

Without another word, she turned back to the usual prefect route and began her patrol again, wondering what else she had missed. The sun was coming up just as she slipped between the sheets, trying not to think of how many puzzles she would have to begin again.

00000000000000000

Draco watched the entrance of the Great Hall, planning his attack. He was currently torn between pulling her aside quietly, shouting at her across the Great Hall and making a scene, or possibly just trying to kiss her again to see if she would still look smug when he was the one who attacked first. Maybe she would have a breakdown. That would be a fun start to the day.

He was still staring at the door when breakfast ended. Theo slid onto the bench across from him just in time to pile a piece of toast with some rashers and an egg before all the food and plates disappeared. He snatched at the coffeel, pouring exactly half a cup before the carafe vanished from his hand as well. “Bollocks. No cream and sugar.”

“Cutting it close, aren’t you?” Blaise questioned from Draco’s right.

“Late night,” Theo responded with yawn. 

“Clearly,” Blaise said. “When you weren’t back by two, I had figured you had been eaten by the lions.”

“Ah.” Theo smiled, taking an overly large bite of his sandwich for emphasis. “I knew you cared.”

“No,” Blaise corrected. “I was just hoping to get first dibs on your trunk.”

“Fuck off then, mate,” Theo chirped cheerfully. He glanced around the way he always had before he said something his father wouldn’t agree with. Not that anyone would be reporting to Nott Senior anytime soon. “Besides, the lions aren’t so bad.”

Draco jerked under the table, a light scowl settling onto his face. He highly disagreed.

“A bold stance,” Blaise stated neutrally. 

“The war is over,” Theo said. His posture was almost defensive. “Perhaps we should stop picking sides to a fight that has already been lost.”

“Last I checked, the Gryffindors weren’t your friends, Theo,” Draco replied.

He had caught Theo healing himself at least three times this year alone. Impressive, considering they were only a week into the term.

“Last I checked, hating me for my father’s sins was a school unifying event,” Theo cut out.

“Well on that chipper note,” Blaise said, “do you two need an escort back to the common rooms, or can I trust you enough to go chat with that lovely Hufflepuff in the entryway?”

Draco glanced up, and sure enough, there was a fairly attractive blonde girl wearing a Hufflepuff sweater standing by the door. She smiled coquettishly at Blaise when he waved before frowning at Draco and looking away.

“A puff? Really?” Draco commented lightly. 

Blaise’s eyes darkened for only a moment before his face settled back into the rakish smile that sent fathers everywhere into a panic. 

“Yes, really. Theo’s right. The war’s over. I’m picking the winning side.” He cocked his head to the left as if noticing something. “Which is whatever side she’s on, currently.” 

He sauntered off towards the door, ignoring Draco’s scoff. Draco turned back to Theo, only to see the other boy frown at him.

“What?” he snapped. 

“Nothing,” Theo commented. He grabbed his cup and stood. “You ready to get out of here?”

“Fine.” 

Draco stole one more look at the emptying Gryffindor table. Potter and Weasley girl muttered while glancing worriedly at the door. 

_Fucking mother hens._

**After Hours**


	4. Chapter 4

  
  


By Tuesday morning she was so tired she could barely stay awake at breakfast. She had slept until noon on Monday, missing all but the very last dredges of lunch, and had stalwartly  _ not _ looked at the Slytherin table. She had every intention to continue on with her life as if nothing had happened. 

After Transfiguration in the afternoon, she had snacked in her room while she worked on homework until early Tuesday morning. She had only made it to Potions on time because Ginny banged on her door, dragging her along at the last minute.

Now she was paying the price, listening to Professor Slughorn go on about the new potion for next week until her attention slipped, focusing instead on a rather interesting passage in her charms book about the effects of synesthesia on spell casting.

“Ah! Miss Granger,”a voice called, pulling her back to the present.

She jumped in her seat, causing a half-asleep Ginny to shoot her an odd look. 

“Perhaps you can tell us about why a lacewing fly and a mayfly are or are not interchangeable, hm?” Professor Slughorn asked.

“While lacewing flies and mayflies are of similar taxonomic structure, they have different masses and compositions, making them not interchangeable within potions,” she droned repetitively, repeating the passage from the book almost word for word as she had read it. “As such, their magical properties differ completely-”

Her vision narrowed as she heard a disgusted scoff from a few seats in front of her. Apparently she had not been the only one; a majority of the room turned to Malfoy. To be fair it was the most he had spoken to basically anyone all year.

_ Except you,  _ her brain replied traitorously. 

“Problem?” she snapped. 

“That was a word-for-word regurgitation from the book,” he drawled. 

The Slytherin beside him was watching him warily as he spun his quill between his fingers. It was at that moment she recognized Theo— albeit it without the bruised eye and bleeding lip— and he sent her a small smile. She almost flushed in embarrassment. Had he been there last week too? Merlin, she was rude, no wonder he was so confused.

“Indeed Miss Granger. Five points for an excellent memory,” Professor Slughorn agreed merrily. “Using this we can define-”

“I was just wondering how one goes about eating a book,” Malfoy interrupted. He didn’t even bother looking back at her as he spoke. “Or did you just cuddle it at night and hope you’d absorb it through osmosis?”

“Mist-” 

Hermione interrupted Professor Slughorn before he could continue.

“And I presume you don’t get your information from textbooks then?” she questioned sharply. “Do tell, Malfoy. If you can buy intelligence, then why haven’t you yet?”

“Rather bold words from someone who got her answer wrong,” he scoffed. 

“Wrong?!?” Hermione squeaked.

She was tempted to climb across the aisle and pull him to the ground by his hair. He had slipped back into that infuriatingly bored person and was directly contradicting her without a wit of malice. She felt like a wolf that had been circling another only to find a cardboard cutout in its place. 

“Hermione. Just ignore him,” Ginny murmured. Her tone took on that mothering sound as she tried to urge Hermione back into her seat.

“Yes let’s-” Again Professor Slughorn was interrupted.

“Wrong, Granger. They are  _ usually  _ not interchangeable for multiple reasons, not just physical differences. The most important being that Mayflies are symbols of the beginning of summer, thus their usage in sealing and age potions, while the Green Lacewing is tropical and produce all year round, representing duplicity and cyclic energy. But when used in a fertility potion they actually can be interchangeable with little to no consequences.”

“That’s a niche use, and it’s not in the book,” she bit out.

“And yet it’s still true.”

“Professor Slughorn?” Hermione questioned. The nervous wizard at the front of the classroom seemed surprised to be addressed, considering it was his class.

“Well-” The man blustered under what was likely the most attention from the classroom he had had all day. “Technically, Mister Malfoy is correct. Five points to Slytherin. But that goes far more in depth-”

“Guess you should try a new way of compiling information Granger,” Malfoy shot casually. “I wonder if parchment goes well with blackberry jam. You could stick it on your morning muffin.”

“Mister-”

“You’ll have to forgive my lack of laboratory experience,” Hermione hissed. It was a low sound that seemed to put everyone else around her on edge except for him. Harry seemed to know what was coming as she heard his chair scoot against the floor as he stood. “I spent the past year in the field, you see. Brewing potions over a wood fire in a beaten up cauldron with whatever I could scavenge. Much more practical, of course, but a tropical bug  _ is  _ a bit harder to come across in the forest of Britain.”

Harry’s hand landed on her shoulder pulling her attention to him. His eyes were watching Malfoy warily as his hand gripped with his wand in his pocket. The room was quiet enough to hear a pin drop, and she thought she was only seconds away from something snapping. Finally Malfoy glanced over his shoulder, a single eyebrow raised in challenge.

“Well, why were you looking for lacewings  _ there _ ?” Malfoy smirked.

Hermione was pulling her wand out when Harry's hand clamped around her wrist. 

“Mister Malfoy!” Professor Slughorn's voice continued to chastise Malfoy about interrupting the lecture even as Harry forced her down into her chair. The room around them broke into whispers.

“Don’t be angry, Hermione,” Harry urged, whispering into her ear. “He’s not worth it. Just ignore him.”

Then cautiously, as if not to spook a wild animal, he walked back to his seat. She felt Ginny’s hand on her leg, patting it comfortingly as Hermione stared at Malfoy arguing with Professor Slughorn with narrow eyes. 

But Hermione  _ wanted _ to be angry, she wanted to scream and blast things until the castle came down around them. Because being angry was better than being nothing at all. 

Instead, she took a deep breath, watching the warriness on her friends’ faces as they glanced at each other. She let the rage quietly simmer until Professor Slughorn began the lecture again, glaring at the edge of a smirk she could just barely see on Malfoy’s face.

When class eventually finished, the three of them let her rant until her anger ran out. More so than being corrected she was upset she had somehow let him get one up on her in public. She would have to return the favor, in spades.

Suddenly feeling a bit better, her mood lightened even more when Ginny suggested a mid-morning walk around the lake. In short order they were joking around like they had used to, with Ginny and Ron taking turns trying to push each other into the water. It only occurred to her after they had headed back for lunch that Malfoy had somehow known what she usually ate for breakfast.

000000000000000000000000000000

  
  


The next couple of the weeks continued that way. As it turned out, she shared Astronomy and Arithmancy with Malfoy, and he took every opportunity to engage her in an argument. While Professor Sinistra was more than happy to entertain the debates about orbital alignment of planets (which she objectively won, earning Gryfindor 10 points), Professor Vector was much less forgiving of their outburst, particularly the most recent one when she called Malfoy an inbred pedant. It was probably for the best that Professor Vector sent them stomping up to the Headmistress’s office as Malfoy looked like he was about to blurt out something he couldn’t take back.

They moved in silence, whispers following them down the hall in what was no doubt a deluge of rumors. Hermione could almost guarantee that by the time she sat down to dinner Ginny would be quizzing her on which curses she used to earn her trip.

The resulting lecture from the Headmistress was enough to burn away the residual satisfaction of tearing into Malfoy. She left with a warning and a reminder that she was Head girl and that it was a privilege not a right. By the time they had exited the spiral staircase her ears were both ringing and burning.

“Well I hope you’re proud of yourself,” she shot. She took off towards the Great Hall, not really expecting a response. To her ultimate annoyance and utter lack of surprise, he fell into an easy stride beside her, even at her quick pace.

“Immensely,” he hummed. “You are remarkably easy to annoy.”

“Fuck off, Malfoy.”. 

“You started it, Granger,” he said. “What in the actual fuck were you thinking?”

“And you say  _ I _ am easy to annoy.” She smirked as he bristled. 

“Regardless, after how utterly crushed you looked being chastised by the harpy, I have elected to forgive you. So let’s call it square and forget it ever happened.” 

“Forgiven me?” she balked. “ For what?!”

“Well, you did throw yourself at me,” he scoffed, scrunching his face up into something like disgust. Somehow, Hermione was shocked to find that she was offended.

“I do distinctly remember you kissing back, Malfoy.” 

He hissed as if the very idea was repugnant to him. 

_ Arrogant ass. _

“And I recall throwing you away in disgust.” He waved dismissively. “In any event, you are forgiven. Let’s never speak of it again.” 

“You have so much more to forgive than I do,” she spat, enjoying the way his eyes darkened. “Have you seen Luna this year? I am sure she misses all those great conversations she had during her  _ lovely  _ stay in your home.”

“Don’t speak of what you don’t know, Granger,” he hissed. His eyes were livid and his mouth curled into a snarl.

“Or what about Mister Ollivander? Did you have to go back and beg him to make you a new wand after Harry won yours? Never worked the same again, did it?” She smirked as she saw him grip the wood through his pocket, his knuckles so tight they blanched white.

“You are beyond lucky my mother taught me not to hit women, or I would smack you,” he growled quietly. 

His temper was dancing the fine line between control and fury. She tried not to focus on the way it made her heart race. His moves were clumsy around the topic, something she could take advantage of.

“But throwing them on the ground is okay?” She smiled when he flinched. She hadn’t really expected it to bother him.

“Like you didn’t deserve it after the utter shite you pulled.” 

“Like you didn’t like it.” 

Whatever he was about to say was cut off when he clamped his mouth shut, his muscles a second away from exploding. His anger had probably blotted out whatever witty comeback he had. 

She turned heel and skipped in the opposite direction, taking what felt like her first win all week. By the time she arrived in the Great Hall she was still riding the high.

00000000000000000

To her utter dismay, the arguments had stopped. She had not meant for that to happen. She was just so embarrassed at being chastised by McGonagall that she  _ may  _ have crossed a line they only ever flirted with. Now, even when she purposefully baited him with arguable points in class, he remained infuriatingly silent, staring ahead with a locked jaw.

She didn’t realize how much she had been genuinely enjoying their spats until they were gone.

It wasn’t like she wasn’t keeping herself busy. She was still completing classwork— at a much reduced pace— and performing Head duties. She had broken no less than three hallway duels before they corkscrewed into something dangerous. Even so, she just couldn’t enjoy her classes like she used to. Ginny still went to Quidditch practice, but Hermione and the boys found themselves alone with no plotting to do for the first time in years. 

“Let’s get some dueling in,” Ron said, pushing away from the breakfast table. 

“Great idea!” Harry also stood, shaking out his robes as he did. Ron had filled back out from their prolonged camping trip, but his had ended early— a fact she still hadn’t totally forgiven. Hermione tried not to think about the rift that still gaped between them caused by Ron leaving. Harry had forgiven him but she...

“Oh,” Luna rose from her spot at the Ravenclaw table behind them. “May I come? I’m afraid my skills have gone… away.”

“I’ll join!” Neville said. 

In short order, various members of the old DA were popping up across the Great Hall and making their way towards the exit. The mass exodus drew the attention of the rest of the student body, who were awed by the gathering of the beloved heroes of Hogwarts.

“Hermione?” Harry questioned. “Are you coming?”

She glanced up to notice that most of the DA had started to make their way out, probably to the Room of Requirement. Ron threw an arm around Luna’s shoulder, bellowing out a laugh at something she said. Or did. You never really knew with Luna. She could be absolutely bonkers one minute and incredibly wise the next.

“Oh.” She shook her head trying to focus on Harry as he frowned at her. “No I…. I think I have had enough duels this week.”

The three duels she had broken up left her torn each time. It was almost easier to deal with when the students were hissing and spitting at each other in spite of the hexes. The much worse scenario were the tears, the younger students in the area panicking and curling into themselves in the face of attack.

“Right.” Harry at least had the decency to look abashed. He looked at the disappearing group and sighed. Hermione almost hadn’t noticed when he started to retake his seat beside her.

“Oh no!” Hermione blurted. “Go! Have fun.”

“I don’t want to leave you here alone.” 

“Nonsense. Go.”

“It’s okay Hermione. I don’t-”

“Better go, Harry.” Dean was untangling himself from the bench, shoving the last of his breakfast into his mouth. “Never know when the next Dark Lord is going to take a potshot at you. I’ll guard your back on the way down.”

Harry barked out a laugh, even as some of the other students glared at Dean. Hermione glared right back, daring them to speak against him. Like they had any right to judge him for for his humor when they sat out the fight. One by one they dropped their eyes until Hermione realised both boys were looking at her in concern.

“Really… It’s fine,” she murmured. She stuffed the rage down to where they couldn’t see it and smiled broadly. “Go. I have some work to do in the library.”

“You sure?” Harry questioned. She understood, she really did. But did he have to be so overbearing about it.

“Positive!” She forced enough cheerfulness into her voice that it probably seemed a bit manic. Regardless, the two boys headed out of the Great Hall. 

Hermione had just begun to gather her bag when she looked up and her eyes caught _ his _ , the cold pools of gunmetal swirling for only a moment before he excused himself, striding out of the Great Hall.

She looked at her remaining food with a grimace, telling herself that it didn’t matter. That she certainly did not feel guilt about their conversation a few days ago and she certainly did not miss his annoying, corrective tone in class. Instead she sniffed, gathering up her things quickly before striding off toward the library.

She had made it a good two corridors down before a portrait swung open to her left. She hesitated, blinking into the darkness for just a second too long. Hands snatched out, grabbing her robes and tugging her in with a resounding clack as the portrait closed behind her. She was only aware of a flash of white hair before her back hit the wall, hands pinned to either above of her head.

“Malfoy.” 

“Granger.” 

God damn him. He looked so smug. Sunlight flickered from the glass ceiling above them, casting thick shadows over his shoulders from the panes. The secret room was green and humid, a variety of overgrown plants cascading out of their pots and climbing all over each other in a bid to reach the light.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Well you see, I have decided that the cards are… unbalanced between us.” His voice purred through the air, a sound that made the heat and humidity of the room all the heavier. She swallowed, honing her temper into a cold blade to redirect on him.

“Unbalanced? You deserve every-” Her rant was interrupted as he tightened his grip around her wrist, sending another shot of pain down her spine, quickening her pulse. He drifted too close and she tried to rip herself from him with a sneer.

“None of that now.” She gasped as he pressed against her and one of his hands tightly gripped her jaw. The sudden warmth of her body sank lower into her stomach, churning like an outgoing tide.

“You are an absolute cunt for taking that shot,” he growled, pulling her head lightly, far too lightly, to the side. 

“You’re a goddamn bastard, Malfoy.” Her muscles jerked as he smiled, leaning far too close to her neck, her vision flooded with silver. He released her jaw and tangled his hand in her hair, tightening his hold to keep her in place. She could feel his hot breath rushing along the skin like snakes of fiendfyre. “You deserve every word and then some.”

He pulled back to glare at her, his face twisted into an ugly sneer that when paired with his sharp cheekbones and furrowed brows made him seem more animal than human. 

She should have kneed him in the bollocks like Charlie had taught her last summer. But that wonderful clarity was back and she didn’t want to let it go, so instead she just growled, trying to twist out of his grip.

“Fuck off you shrew.” She was sure he meant it to hurt. To keep her from moving. To toss her around just a bit so that she would get scared and leave him alone. But when he yanked hard on her hair she felt her pulse skip a beat as she let out a whimper. A familiar ache roared through her blood, the need to be bitten, and tugged, and scratched. His smirked as the sound escaped her throat, eyes sparking with victory while hers filled with a panicked realization.

“And another thing-” Whatever he had planned to say was stopped as she summoned her wand to her hands. There was a flash of blue and his body stiffened before falling to the floor with a thunk. She breathed, folding her wand tightly to her chest. When she blinked down at the gray eyes, they were absolutely seething, his muscles already twitching and trying to break the bonds.

“I-” She hadn’t meant it. Not like that. She just couldn’t… She didn’t know... She couldn’t think right now… She had to go. “I-I’m sorry.” 

The reply was half choked out before she could stop it, her brain already focused on exiting the room by any means necessary. She stumbled towards the door, nearly screaming as his shoe twitched when she walked by. She pushed softly against the portrait, checking the hallway for clearance. 

She took one glance back to still find him glaring at her hard enough to set her on fire. His lips moved awkwardly as he shook off the spell, mere moments away from muttering the counter curse. And then…  _ god, _ those eyes promised… She tore through the door and down the hall, desperately denying the still-burning heat inside of her, present even in the chilling Scottish air. By the time she came to a stop, she felt like she was burning, her mind hyper-aware of the dampness between her thighs. She groaned, throwing herself against the cold stone of the castle, cursing her existence.

_ Not good. _

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

  
  


“Hermione?” Ginny questioned. It sounded like it was the second time.

“Yeah? Sorry?” Hermione noticed the rather garish robes Ginny was holding up. Both were awful, but that seemed like a rude answer. The ones in her right hand were less frilly at least, not that bows were any better. “That one, I think.”

“What?” Ginny looked down and scowled. “Merlin, no. I am not wearing these. I was just showing you what we found in Grimmauld Place this summer for comedic effect.” She tossed the piles of silk on her bed and crossed her arms regarding Hermione carefully. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. I‘m fine.”

“No,” Ginny corrected, rolling her eyes. “You  _ were _ fine. Hermione, we both know you have been off for awhile and it makes sense. No one expects anyone to have come out of this war normal.” She paused glancing over to her trunk. “But you’ve been fading these past few weeks, and I want to know why.”

_ I was fighting with Malfoy three times a week and now I am not. Oh, also, he attacked me and sent all sorts of feelings I shouldn’t be having through my body like a wrecking ball earlier this week. Are you sure about the red one? It suits your coloring. _

“I didn’t… there was nothing....” She stared at Ginny's frown, letting her mind drift until the other girl threw her arms up in the air. 

“Fine. Don’t tell me. Whatever you did, do it again. I haven’t seen you that happy since you all came back.” 

Hermione choked back a dry laugh. 

Ginny smiled and summoned a much shorter and more modern dress from the closet and held it up. “May as well get your approval for tonight's outfit since you're giving it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real talk: i hate drawing Draco. I feel like I can never get him right.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning:
> 
> Graphic smut in this chapter. Pretty rough sex, very clearly consensual. You have been warned.

Ginny drank a lot after the war. Not that Hermione blamed her, she had no room to. There were just some things they couldn’t talk to each other about, their experiences too different. Harry was the only one with any real opposition to it. It took a full month of fighting before the two of them made a deal. Ginny could only drink on weekends and only after the sun had gone down. It was a struggle at first, with a lot of sneaking around and screaming matches. It was only after Harry threatened to leave that she agreed, getting a handle on the behavior. It was still not in check but it was at least on the board.

Which was why Hermione was wholly unsurprised to see Ginny polluted by ten o'clock, dancing with Harry and wildly laughing. He smiled indulgently, twisting her around the dance floor, knocking into other drunken dancers as they spun.

Hermione sat on a wingback chair, sipping on a glass of pumpkin juice and watching the chaos like a slow-motion car crash. She clocked at least four hookups that would be regretted in the morning, as well as three ruined shirts, six lower years trying to sneak away some of the spiked punch, and one pink-dyed familiar that she thought belonged to the Ravenclaw by the fireplace. As head girl she should be appalled, but as their classmate she understood. Everyone needed a chance to be normal, even if it was forced. 

She could see it when they drank, what was hidden in the day-to-day when they had better control of their actions. The way people flinched when a firework went off. Or the way people threw themselves together as if it was their last night on earth. This was probably not what Headmistress McGonagall had in mind when she preached ‘house unity,’ but it worked.

Regardless, she stayed away from the punch. Her brain was already unclear enough without the effect of alcohol numbing it more. She had tried that route and found it too painful and foul-tasting. Even if it ended up producing decent results.

“Now, what are you doing ova’ here?"

She glared at Cormac McLaggen as he settled on the chair's arm. She had specially chosen this seat so there wouldn’t be room for anyone to crowd her. But settle he did, half tumbling on top of her. “Lookin’ all sad and pretty.”

Good lord, she wished she could drift away from this. But she was suddenly too angry and aware. Plus, if she did, she had no doubts she would come back to find his hand somewhere it shouldn’t be.

“McLaggen,” she responded. She stood just as he leaned in, falling into her now-vacant spot. “Need anything?” 

“Just saying ‘hi,’ love.” She cringed visibly. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you and wanted to check in. I’ve missed you. I sent you owls all last year, you know.”

“We were a bit preoccupied at the time,” Hermione answered curtly. He was even less tolerable when he was drunk. Thankfully, she spotted Dean and Seamus as they moved toward her purposefully.

“Aw come on Hermione. Let’s have some fun! I promise it’ll be-”

“Hermione!” Seamus appeared behind her throwing his arm around her shoulder and playing with the tail end of her braid. She flinched at the contact but forced a warm smile on her face. “I owe you so much for those notes. I swear you would think I wasn’t here last year.”

“Me too, mate,” Dean added from her other side. He laughed openly even as a nearby group of Hufflepuffs shifted uncomfortably from the dark humor. Hermione actually found his new take on life significantly more entertaining. 

“Shove off,” Seamus barked, guiding Hermione in the other direction and distinctly away from McLaggen.

She waited until they were out of sight of the armchair and shrugged off his arm as he pulled away. She felt the slightest bit guilty at her reaction, but he just shook his head softly.

“Don’t worry about it Hermione. I did owe you one.” 

“Thanks, Seamus.”

“Hey. If.. uh… you need someone to talk to.. I am here. Okay?” 

She paused, watching him suspiciously as her anger reignited. Hermione glanced around to see Harry swaying with Ginny by the window to a slow tune that didn’t match up with the sounds from the phonograph. Her eyes narrowed. 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“Don’t be mad at him,” Seamus rushed out. “He’s just looking out for you.”

“I don’t need anyone looking out for me, Finnigan.” She watched him shrink back as she blew past him toward the portrait hole. “I am just fine.”

She made it halfway across the common room before Ron noticed her. He called out to her, trying to shake off Lavender from his. Hermione slipped through the portrait and hurried off toward the Head dorms.

“‘Mione! Where are you going?” she heard Ron call as the portrait swung open again.

“I’m tired,” she shouted back before he could stumble after her. “Night Ron.”

The doorway spit him out after she had just turned the corner, the sounds of laughter and music following him. “Right then. Night! Sleep well!”

She waited until she heard the door shut before letting out a bitter grumble. She stomped through the corridors and made enough noise that anyone out after curfew had plenty of time to take cover. The last thing she needed was to catch any rule breakers. She didn’t think she could give a fair detention right now.

Logically, she could see that Harry was just trying to help. She knew that there was something off about her, no matter how hard she tried to pretend otherwise. Something she couldn’t beat back unless she replaced it with an equally noxious emotion. Her recent return to the surface must have made him hopeful. Maybe Ginny was right; maybe she should start trying to find someone.

An image of ruby blood sliding against her cheek and fingers pressed into her scalp flashed in her mind. Her shiver had nothing to do with the cooling night air. It was another thing that was not normal, not rational, but still lit up her brain like lightning. It was not who she was, or ever had been. But it was something that brought that person back. He was dangerous and something she should stay far away from. And yet...

She paused near the abandoned courtyard, watching the way the moonlight fell on the cobblestones. 

As if summoned, she watched as Malfoy passed through the courtyard. His hair flashed white, almost glowing under the stars. Hands stuck in his pockets, he moved, as much a part of the shadows as the moonlight, blending perfectly into them both. She had been avoiding him since she hexed him. It made the guilt she felt easier to ignore. Stunning him like that had been low; it was a cheap shot that she wouldn’t have taken on anyone else. To be quite frank, she was ashamed. Which would have been stomachable if he had retaliated. But instead he abandoned the game, not even having the decency to sweep the pieces from the table dramatically as he left. Another puzzle that didn’t fit. 

The only reason she knew he was even bothered was when their eyes would meet across the tables during meal times and the placid mask would fall. He would stare at her, making her feel like she would burn up, until she eventually looked away. But she had gotten sloppy, and here she was, alone, late at night. He looked up from the ground, his vision drawn to her. 

“You.” 

His eyes flashed as he shifted course. His steps tapped against the stone, and she recognized the feeling of unfinished business. It was his turn now, and he demanded retribution. In a perfect world that may have been fair, but in the here and now it just sung ‘danger.’ Her spine quivered in fear, whispering at her to run. Instinct had served her well in the past year, so she listened.

She turned from the path to the Head’s dorm and strode away, her footsteps echoed by the pair behind her. She risked a glance over her shoulder. He was following her; the look in his eyes promised unpleasant things. Her stomach fluttered and she abandoned all sense of respectability and ran, hearing his steps stutter before he gave chase. 

She took corners quickly, darting down rarely-used passages in hopes of confusing him. Her blood rushed through her ears, drowning out the sounds of shoes on stone as she tore through the castle. If anyone else was around, she couldn’t hear them over her heart beating and his ever-closer breath. Spotting an unlocked classroom, she led him up the hall again, doubling back to slip in when he was out of sight. She pushed the door shut behind her, backing into a table as she heard his footsteps come to a stop outside. 

The door creaked open slowly, his body blocking the only exit as her brain rioted. There was no way out. She was trapped.

“What the fuck, Granger?” he puffed. He leaned against the doorway, his hair in disarray and forehead damp with sweat. His usually pale skin was flushed to a pleasant pink and his broad chest drew deep breaths. “Why did you run?”

A familiar heat coursed through her body. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized what it meant. Him. Out of all people, why did it have to be  _ him  _ who made her feel halfway alive? She had to find a way to chase him off, to make him leave. He slammed the door behind him and stalked closer to her.

“Why did you chase me?” she questioned haughtily.

“If you didn’t want me to chase you, then you shouldn’t have run.”

“Maybe you should have taken the hint that I didn’t want to talk to you,” she snipped. 

“Your wand is right there Granger,” he growled. “You know how to use it.”

“You could have used yours.” 

“And have you wrapped up like a present in the middle of the hallway?” She couldn't help the shudder that curled her toes. “That would be great fun to explain to the Headmistress.” He paused a foot away from her, glowering threateningly. “What are you playing at?”

“Nothing,” she breathed. She could feel the hard wood of the desk digging into her back but didn’t dare let her eyes leave him.

“Don’t lie, Granger. You’re dreadful at it.” He prowled around her, looking her up and down with a snarl. 

“I’m not lying.” 

She squirmed openly under the too-hot gaze, trying to find anywhere else to look. Her fingers wrapped tightly around her arms and heat pooled below her stomach, breath coming in rapid pants.

“What do you want from me?” he shouted, the sound echoing around the room. “I’m just trying to fucking exist and you appear with your twice-damned game of cat and mouse, sending me miserable looks across the Great Hall when I get too sick of being your punching bag.”

“Nothing!” she cried.

She could hear the hint of fear laced into her voice and tried to instruct her body to stop shivering in anticipation. Why did it have to be him? She had to leave. Her gaze shot toward the door, her body taking a single step before he was there, blocking her path and invading her senses. 

“No!” he hissed. He blocked her line of vision, his chest heaving. She was too aware of his body heat licking against her skin. “You do not get to throw yourself in my path and then walk away with no consequences or explanations. You will tell me what the  _ fuck  _ you want from me and you will do it right this minute.”

“Move.” She had meant for it to come out as a command. Instead the breathy word encircled them. He stilled, immediately setting her instincts on edge.

“Look at me,” he commanded. She refused, glaring pointedly at the floor behind him. She couldn’t suppress the shudder when his hand hooked around her jaw. She kept her eyes downcast even as he yanked her to face him.

“Granger, look at me.”

The anger drained from his voice, replaced by something darker. He punctuated each word with a loosening and tightening of his grip, making her squirm.

“No.” 

“Why not?”

“Because-“ she started with a shaky breath. 

“What will I see, Granger?” His voice vibrated through the room, the dampness between her legs growing. Something in the air shifted, a change that had the hair on the back of her neck standing straight up.

Her eyes blew wide when he crashed his mouth into hers. The kiss, if you could even call it that, was violent and bruising. An attack to dominate and win more than a sign of affection. He bit at her lower lip, drawing a harsh gasp from her throat. And just as her eyes began to drift shut, he pulled away, a victorious smirk etched into his face. 

“Now isn’t  _ that _ interesting,” he crooned stepping forward to trap her between him and the desk, an arm on either side. His breath was hot against her ear. “Granger. Tell me why you look like a frightened rabbit who wants to get eaten.”

“I don’t-” he pushed his body against her, something hard brushing against her core. The movement elicited a hitched whine. She squirmed against him, trying to push him away. He caught her arms as they batted weakly at his chest.

“Terrible liar.” He nudged aside her face to breathe on her neck. “If that is true, why don’t you try explaining those little sounds you are making.” 

She fumbled for words as his mouth left a trail of searing hot kisses down to the junction of her shoulder. Her skin welcomed the contact, even if her conscience knew better.

“Fine,” he commented after a moment. His breath brushed against her skin in a way that had her longing for more. “If that’s what it takes, I’ll play along. But don’t expect an apology when you lose.” 

His teeth sank hard into her skin without warning. Pain bloomed in her shoulder violently as she bucked against him. Her vision lanced with white hot stars as a low moan broke away from her.

“Don’t…” She breathed as he pulled away, licking and sucking at the mark, sending shockwaves down her body.

“Don’t what?” he asked. 

She stifled a sound as he bit near the base of her jaw. The sharp sting was far too great to be considered a love bite and was much closer to a wound. His hand drifted up her thigh, teasing at the hem of her skirt and up her spine before it gripped her braid, tugging her head back. She bucked again as she bent, reveling in his sharp intake of breath as her core found his length pushing against her.

“Had enough yet, Granger?” 

He pulled back, watching her heatedly. His pupils blown wide even as every move was calculated and controlled. Dangerous. He was watching her, waiting for her to give in. To run crying from the room like a child who touched a too-hot stove when they should have known better. She should have known better.

“Wand’s right there,” he prompted. 

His eyes never left hers even as her hand twitched. He was right. It was in her pocket. She could grab it and hex him. She  _ should _ grab it and hex him, he clearly expected her to... But instead she just stared at him, feeling so painfully and blessedly alive. It was a call she could only make once or never again. It was probably that ultimatum that let the words slip from her mouth.

“Your move, Malfoy.” 

She watched his eyes flash. There was a moment, brief in clarity, where he looked unsure, like he hadn’t even considered her response as a possible outcome. Just as quickly, it was replaced by that cold glare, his body or ego unwilling to back down. 

“Pull out you wand,” he growled.

“What? I-”

“Do it.”

Slowly, she withdrew her wand from her skirt, holding the precious vinewood tightly. Suddenly her back slammed against the desk, a crash of books sounding from somewhere nearby. Malfoy dragged her wrist above her head, pinned by his hand. He hung over her, blocking out what little moonlight filtered in.

“Last fucking chance,” he hissed over her. “I don’t play nice and I highly recommend you find someone else for whatever the fuck this is.”

He was trying to scare her, at least on some level. He was trying to hurt her so she would back down, just like she had last time. She took a cool breath to center herself, glaring at him as she spoke. 

“No.”

His kisses were pain and fire. They seared across her lips and neck like cannons leaving destruction and tender flesh in their wake. She didn’t even bother to hide the wanton sounds dripping from her throat as he lapped at injured flesh. Her body jolted as he pulled away, his free hand fiddling with the first button at the top of her shirt. The one that suddenly seemed too tight. 

“So tell me, Granger,” he purred, the sound vibrating along their bodies making her ache. She squirmed against his grip until the pressure on her wrist was bruising. He dipped his head low to her ear while she panted, the first button popping clear of it’s hole. “Why did you run?”

She stared at the ceiling, her mind so painfully hers and focused that she couldn’t blame it on her usual dazed state. She was more than aware of why she was here. It was some deeply ingrained, vicious  _ need _ to be hurt. There was too much anger in her with no outlet for relief. She was overflowing with it constantly, so much rich rage that couldn’t be seen or stoppered. Excision was the only answer. She needed it ripped from her, and that was something he could do, even if no one else would.

She waited until he was above her again. Eyes uncertain, like he was afraid he had misjudged her. His grip went slack around her wrist as the horror began to dawn on his face. 

No. She was too far in to stop now. She could hate herself in the morning when the world was foggy and nothing really mattered. Right now though, she gathered her courage, all that she had left, and met him dead on.

“Because I wanted to be chased.”

**000000000000000000**

The words soothed the panicked beast within him, excitement building with the pressure of her body against his. He could feel her heat along his cock, barely separated by the thin fabric of his pants and her skirt.

It was… a development. One even the most talented seer would never have seen coming. And one he wouldn’t question. At least not now. He smirked, loving the flash of fear across her face as he released her hands, pulling at her shirt until it ripped, revealing a soft magenta bra. He would always remember the clattering her buttons made on the stone, like the first wave of hail during a thunderstorm. Threading one arm around her waist, he pulled them together, grinding painfully into her until a low moan escaped her throat.

He wasted no time ripping away the fabric covering her breasts, snapping her bra straps and leaving angry red lines indented in her skin.  _ Good _ . When she woke up tomorrow and regretted it, she would at least have to look at the marks in the mirror. She would croon and cry to herself and he would never have to see that spark of intelligence focused on him again.

He had never thought a great deal about her chest before.. There were plenty of better topics for that conversation sprinkled throughout their year, and there had been absolutely nothing remarkable about hers. He was quickly realizing that mistake was a sin. They were absolutely perfect. Full, with an elegant slope leading to pert nipples hard against the night air.  _ She  _ was absolutely perfect, splayed out in the moonlight, her neck rung with already darkening bruises. A picture of want, her chest rising with every inhale and shudder of anticipation. Who would have ever fucking guessed it?

He trailed the edge of his nail down her collarbone, staring in fascination as she shivered. She pushed up against him until a bright red ribbon followed his nail’s path. He placed his palm on her sternum, splaying his fingers out gently, waiting for her breath to hitch. As soon as it did, he dug his nails in, scratching down the center of her breast bone while she writhed beneath him, moaning into an empty classroom. And he had barely touched her yet.

Intensely pleased with her reaction, he wondered briefly if he would break her. He wondered if he would care. He was not a gentle person, he had never enjoyed fucking girls the way they expected him to, with soft kisses and whispered words.  _ This  _ he wanted. Something he could have. Something he could control and mark and use until he had no hate left for himself. If she couldn’t live with herself afterward that was her problem.

He dove to her chest, grabbing an already hard nipple in his teeth, pulling his hand free to tug and pinch the other. She shook against him as if she had been hit by a curse, her head turned to the side and her hands clutching the edge of the desk. She would wake up half of Hogwarts at this point. Wouldn’t that be fun to watch her explain.

He sucked and pulled, working her into a manic frenzy that alternated between begging him for mercy and cursing his existence. Taking the flesh just above where the collar of her shirt would land, he bit again, making her spine go ridged and her skin bloom pink. He straightened and her hands followed him, shaking wildly.

He flipped her skirt up, growling at the sight of wetness on her thighs and the soaked scrap of lace covering her. Careful not to touch her, he tucked his thumbs under the band at her hips, pulling and tugging at the fabric so that it ground against her. She keened softly, her hands scrambling to grip whatever they could find.

“P-please,” she panted.

Forcing her legs apart as he ripped the band, he tossed the filthy knickers to the side. He silently unbuttoned his trousers with one hand while he traced feather-light touches against her hip bone, entranced by the way her sex glittered in the light, dampness dripping from her core. 

Grabbing his wand, he cast a silencing spell on the room, along with the familiar bubblegum-pink spell that they all learned in fifth year. The consequences of this moment were already heavy enough.

“Please what, Granger?” He was barely in control of himself as he removed his cock from it’s confines. One stroke had him biting at his own lip.

“Please touch me,” she cried. She threw her head back as he laughed quietly.

“You are such a sight.” He lowered himself over her, his hand hovering between them, close enough she could feel the heat of it. “Begging like a common two-knut whore?”

Her hips tried to push up against him and he pulled back just enough to avoid it.

“Granger, look at me.” With great difficulty she turned her head to meet his, a perfect image of wanton lust with mussed hair and bruised lips. 

From the murky depth of pleasure he watched her expression without concern, the way her eyes were glazed over and her chest heaved was telling. It wasn’t the expression she wore when she drifted around school, no. This was the look that said she knew exactly what she was doing to him and simply did not care. This look was  _ because  _ of him. He slid his hand close enough to her sex for the back of his knuckles to tickle her curls, a movement that had her straining toward him. “Ask again.”

“Please,” she breathed. “I need your fingers inside of me.”

He looked her in the eye as he lined himself up. “No.” 

She screamed as he drove his cock into her, her sex shaking and choking around him. He was expecting something to stop him, some part of her body to resist the sudden stretching she wasn’t prepared for. But he slid in, covered in her wetness until she had taken him whole. Her legs twitched as they wrapped around his hips, urging him to move.

“Fucking hell.”

He willed the stars behind his eyes away, fighting the urge to come that instant. Her walls fluttered around him wildly even as he stilled. He held himself over her chest until he got enough of a grip on reality that he could see her face again. He had been expecting betrayal. Or at the very least anger. When she looked up at him in wonder he felt something uncomfortable uncurl inside him. He didn’t like it, that she gazed up at him like he could save her. Snarling, he snapped his hips into her violently, watching the wonder be replaced with pained pleasure as he sunk back into her with bruising force.

His hand pulled at her scalp, exposing her neck and letting him aggravate the already tender skin. He pulled back to watch her chest bounce with each time he pistoned into her until she was all but sobbing. Feeling the telltale tightness in his spine, he slid his hand between their bodies, his thumb flicking over her clit and making her flutter around him.

“Do-” She cried out as he pinched at her, rubbing the sensitive nub between his fingers. “Don’t.” It came out as a keening moan more than a demand.

“You asked me to touch you, didn’t you?” he asked. His voice was gravelly and thick. He could curse his lack of control later.

“But I’m…. I’ll-” Her body began to tense the pressure building. He paused the movement listening to her cry.

“Wand’s right there, Granger.” For a moment her hand reached above her, opening and closing slowly before falling to the cold wood of the desk. With renewed vigor he slammed into her, pinching in time with his thrust. Right as she was about to fall off the edge, he paused and held her, keeping her dangling as he fucked her.

“Please,” she panted. He almost laughed when she tried to twist out of his grip.

“I am going to make you come so hard you see stars, Granger,” he growled, fighting off his own release. “And whenever you make love with whatever simpering sop of a man you marry, you will be thinking of how hard I’ve fucked you. Each and every time. Am I clear?”

“Yes!” she whined, desperately grinding against him. He clenched his jaw, biting out the words.

“Who will you think of?”

“You! Ah- fuck! You, Malfoy!” He flicked her clit three more times before her back arched into him in a silent scream. He swore as she tightened around him, milking his own release in perfect synchronization as he pulled her against him. When she finally released him he was panting, already pulling away as she fell back. Her legs fell together lazily, his seed mixing with her wetness as it dripped down the curves of her thighs.

Not taking even a moment to think, he buttoned himself up and tucked his shirt back in. He grabbed his wand from where it rolled to the floor and leaned back against the door, letting the cool stone seep away the heat of the moment until he was aware enough to regret what had happened. She laid there in silence, her breath evening out until it was almost silent. Suddenly unsure and lamenting the loss of control, he schooled his face and conjured a bowl of warm water and a rag on the desk before turning toward the door.

“I hope you have satisfied your curiosity,” he growled.

He felt no guilt when he saw her flinch. Not when he had felt so equally used. The thought was enough to send a sharp stab of self loathing through his chest. A part of him considered reaching out to her, attempting to soothe the skin he ravaged and casting cooling charms over the newly forming bruises. He told himself it was a natural reaction, something any man would do. But not with Granger. The best he could muster was to add a glass of cold water to another desk.

“Get yourself cleaned up. And don’t bother me again,” he said over his shoulder. Without another word, he walked out of the room, closing the door with a slight click.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note:
> 
> As a reminder Dean spent the previous year on the run as a muggleborn. 
> 
> Cormac McLaggen canonically had to repeat his 7th year. Which would mean he would have been in the trio's year. I attest that under the Carrows basically everyone had failed their newts and had to retake the year. A few people transferred or dropped out.
> 
> Consent is important. Always have a safe word. Or the ability to hex your partner apparently.  
> This is a scene that I wrote nearly a month ago and added stuff to the story since. Let me know if there are parts that are awkward but don't make sense.


	6. Chapter 6

She crossed a line again. Didn’t just cross it actually, more so rocketed past it while flipping it two fingers and cursing its mother. At least she dragged him down with her this time.

Hermione waited until his footsteps faded to move, her body protesting in a delicious burn that sent her mind humming. She felt so well-used, and more than a bit dirty. It should have been an unpleasant feeling, but she couldn’t really bring herself to be ashamed. She figured that if the sex had been more impersonal, that might have done it. But it was because it had been so very personal that her body seemed to sing. 

She resolved not to waste her precious moments of clarity tumbling over the consequences of tonight. The fog would be back soon, and she could worry about it then. Besides, it's not as if there was anyone except him to judge her, and she didn’t care about his opinion on the matter. 

_ It’s not like he could say anything anyway. No one would believe him,  _ she thought _. _

With a sigh she sat up, taking stock of the damage. Some heavy-duty glamour charms would be in order. She could see the bruises forming on her chest, the indents of his teeth already fading away. 

The first thing she did was cast a secondary contraceptive charm. She hadn’t exactly been expecting this, and she didn't trust him. The delay would reduce the effectiveness, but it just simply wouldn’t do to have half-blood children marring the precious Malfoy line. She rolled her eyes at her own ridiculousness.

The second thing she considered was her shirt. A quick  _ reparo _ hemmed all the buttons and a  _ scourgify _ cleaned off the sweat from her run. She frowned at her bra before immolating it as unsalvageable. The straps would never hold up right again. Not that her shoulders could really take the extra pressure with their new injuries. She ran a hand over the welts, smiling at the sting.

She slid on her shirt, considering the knickers a lost cause when she found them. She would never be able to look at them again anyway, so they joined the bra as ash. The ridiculousness of burning her under things after fucking Draco Malfoy hit her in a wave, and she couldn’t help but giggle manically. She was wholly certain that there were much better examples of feminist empowerment than tonight. Not that it didn’t please her immensely to see her effect on him. He may have left in a huff, but he was unable to hide the deep pitch of his voice or the way his breath shook. Contrary to what he thought, she knew she had won this round and the thoughts of it would plague him much longer than they would her.

Mindful of her tenderness, she dampened the cloth and wiped her thighs clean, thankful for the warm water. With him gone she may be able to breath again, but the absence of the suffocating heat left the room cold and empty. 

She cleared her throat as she hopped off the desk, trying to ignore the hoarseness from overuse. Her glamour charms failed twice before she caught sight of the glass of water. Her eyebrow quirked up as she stared at the door. Then again, she supposed he had as much to hide as she did. Harry and Ron had a tendency to hit first and question later but Ginny was the one you really wanted to watch out for.

With a few long cool sips she was able to cast passable glamour charms and decided she looked no worse for the wear, other than some lightly bruised lips. She summoned some bruise-begone paste from her room as she straightened her skirt and gave herself a once-over. The small tin arrived just in time for her to open the door, skipping into her hand lightly. 

She swore as she opened the lid, finding just enough product left for her lips. It would have to do for now; she would write George in the morning for more. Suddenly feeling utterly awake, the idea of heading back to her Head Girl room was pathetic and boring. 

Instead, she turned heel, making her way back to Gryffindor tower. Maybe she wanted that drink after all.

000000000000000

She woke in a familiar-feeling bed with a splitting headache. The sheets were reminiscent of Ginny’s, but the scent buried in the pillow was distinctly smokey. Almost like a peat moss and earth. 

Did Lavender get a new boyfriend? Poor Ron. The two had been floating around each other all year but no one had made a move.

She winced, thinking of the nasty scars sliced across the girl's face. The image didn’t sting as much as usual, instead accompanied by a flush of relief that her housemate was still alive. That was… a nice feeling. 

She begrudgingly opened her eyes, mentally preparing to suffer the good-natured teasing from her housemates for not being able to make it home. Hopefully she wouldn’t snap at them too harshly. It was only as her eyes adjusted to the light she caught sight of Dean getting dressed at the next bed over.

“Ah!” She screamed, yanking the sheets against her fully clothed chest. “Dean! How did you get up here?” 

“Well I was born, apparently stole some magic in utero, then walked up these steps when I was eleven. Why?” 

“But the stairs...” 

She desperately tried to think of any reason he could have gotten past the stairs. The answer came to her a moment later, glaringly obvious as she looked around the eighth year boys dormitory. Dean was pulling on a weekend jumper and trying to dispel the static in his hair. Neville helpfully waved at her from his bed as he yawned. Ron and Harry plodded out of the bathroom in various stages of undress. 

“Oh, dear god.” 

“Throw something on you fucking animals,” Dean muttered as he dug through his trunk before handing her a purple vial. Hangover cure. Right.

Harry shrugged on his shirt as Ron pulled a pair of loose jeans over his boxers as he yawned. 

“Nothing she hasn’t seen before. You can’t live in a tent that small for that long without seeing something you really don’t want to.”

That was true, and not the concerning thing. The concerning thing was that, judging from the trunks where they had removed the clothes, this wasn’t either of their beds. With a groan she glanced at Dean handing out potions to all the inhabitants like they were candy.

“Erm…. Dean?”

“Yeah?” he questioned tiredly. “Make it snappy. I’m hungry.”

“Whose bed am I in?” 

“Uh…” The room froze, Neville choking on air as he muttered something about the greenhouse before fleeing. Dean looked at Ron who was pointedly fixing his tie and Harry who was attempting to brush his hair. With a wince he looked back at her, waiting for the usual explosion of anger. 

“Seamus’s.”

Her eyebrow twitched and she focused on breathing through her nose. “And where is Seamus?”

He gestured with his thumb over to a thick rug by the fire place where Seamus still laid under a blanket still snoring. She let out a deep exhale, the anger flowing away from her. For the first time in a long time she didn’t feel the desperate need to hold onto it like a lifeline. She glanced up to where Ron was watching her closely. He cleared his throat, apparently coming to the conclusion it was safe to proceed.

“Well... he was whining about it being his fault you left….when you reappeared you got too pissed to walk to your room so… he offered you his bed in apology. Nothing happened, ‘Mione. We were all right here.” Dean nodded eagerly and Harry focused on his bed curtains, playing with the golden tassel.

“And why? By chance,” she questioned, her eyes not leaving Harry, “did I not just go to Ginny’s room?”

Dean’s bark of laughter turned into a cough as Ron frowned. His ears turned bright red and glared at Harry.

“Apparently it was occupied.” 

One moment, Harry was smiling innocently. The next he was taking the knockback hex from Ron that sent him flying into his bed. Hermione was laughing openly before she could stop herself, the commotion waking up Seamus who quickly ran to the bathroom to vomit.

“I’m glad you’re back, Hermione.” Harry groaned as he sat up rubbing his chest. “But did it have to be just in time to remind Ron I am dating his sister?” 

The room fell into another round of laughter as Ron sputtered. Hermione joined in, the shaking heaves pulled from her as naturally as breathing. Alive. Love. Happiness. She had forgotten what it was like.

“Right, well we should head down to breakfast. I doubt Seamus will be too mad about sleeping on the floor considering this has been the closest he’s gotten to having a girl in his bed in eight years,” Dean shot as the Irishman in-question emerged from the bathroom.

“Oi! Don’t be a dick... Mornin’, Hermione,” he murmured lightly.

“Morning Seamus.” 

“Are we okay?” Seamus questioned in that perfectly blunt way he had.

“Yeah. We’re okay.” 

She laughed lightly, taking the moment to shake out of the sheets, but winced as she stood.

“Careful there, Granger. The hangover cure takes a minute to kick in,” Dean cautioned. Unaware of the cause, he helped to steady herself on sore legs. She smiled, not telling him her headache was already gone.

“I’ll meet you all down there. I've got to borrow something from Ginny before I go.”

“What are you borrowing?” Harry asked, as she left the room giving the boys time to finish up.

“Don’t worry about it,” she murmured. She pressed on down the stairs, just feeling blessed that her and Ginny were the same size.

00000000000000000000000000

As it turned out, she was blessed in general. The girls dormitory was empty when she cracked the door open. Her hair had come down during the night, hiding the marks on her neck when the glamour faded, but they wouldn’t have gone unnoticed under Lavender’s sharp eye. And Christ she had never been more grateful for her massive curls. She looked torn up. Deep purple and black marks circled her neck in a painfully obvious pattern. The wounds from when Ron had been attacked by those brains didn’t look that much better by comparison.

He had really done a number on her. The mark on her chest was just as bad but could at least be hidden by the top button of her shirt. Hermione stole a baggy sweater to throw on over her uniform. She winced briefly at the extra weight on her shoulders before shaking them out. She sighed to the empty room, the mid morning sun warm and inviting on her skin. Right, she would not feel bad about this. Not until she lost herself again. 

She also stole a pair of knickers, only feeling the slightest bit guilty. Ginny had accidentally worn hers multiple times when she stayed at the Burrow, the laundry there being a bit of a chaotic mess. 

She resolved to take the path with the least amount of stairs as she headed to the common room. Harry and Ron opened the portrait as she appeared. They teased each other about last night, recalling their antics to a befuddled Hermione who barely remembered anything past her walk back to Gryffindor after…

She cleared her throat, disguising the motion by waving at Hannah Abbott as she walked by. 

“It’s nice to have you back Hermione,” Ron quipped cheerfully. Shooting a deadly look at him when Harry elbowed him in the stomach. “Ow! What?”

Harry glanced back at her with a blush. “Not that it isn’t usually nice to have you around. It’s just…”

“You're so much more fun when you’re happy,” Ron finished. He dodged the second hit from a scowling Harry expertly.

“That’s not-”

“No, he’s right, Harry,” she finished for him, gracing a smug Ron with a smile. “Half the time I am comatose, and the other half I am so angry I could light someone on fire. It’s nice to be somewhere in the middle again.”

“I agree.” Ron nodded. “I don’t know where you went last night or what you did, but anything short of murder was worth it, I’d say.”

Hermione flinched, remembering the way Malfoy’s nails dragged down her chest and the punishing pace he set as he drove into her. A soreness settled between her legs as she moved.. “Er…. I suppose.”

“If you ever need help Hermione,” Harry added. “We will take care of it. Whatever you need.”

To his credit, he only looked a little suspicious. A pretty deep improvement for him.

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. The redhead looked so like a sincere little puppy that she had to bite her tongue. “Anything. Just ask.”

She imagined their faces if she asked either Ron or Harry to hurt her like Malfoy had last night and it was enough to break her control. She was still laughing like a maniac when they entered the Great Hall, to the great relief of her fellow Gryffindors.

000000000000000000000000000000000

Two days. It had been two days since he had seen her. He elected to avoid the dining hall all weekend and Monday as well, figuring if they were going to arrest him they could at least not do it in front of the entire student body. What in the actual fuck had he been thinking? Other than the fact that all female students should be forced to wear pants… not that it would have stopped him persay.

As soon the door shut, he ran straight back to his room and didn’t come out. Dark magic left traces, and it was fucking crystal-clear that it had left dirty fingerprints all over his soul. He hadn’t intended to ruin her like that. He thought she would have run like she had the last time. 

She should have stopped him. That was the plan. But when he had been so lost in the heady arousal of control and power he found himself unable to back down and she suffered for it. He shouldn’t feel guilty over the absolute bitch that was Hermione Granger. Not with the way she always walked around with her nose in the air like she was better than everyone. It was only right that he proved to her she wasn’t. She asked for it, and it was her fucking fault in the first place. She could have stopped him at any point…

Right?

The longer he thought about it, the worse he felt. His mind tied itself up in a Gordian knot of opposing thoughts. 

She asked for it. She didn’t deserve it. She wanted it. He loathed her. He shouldn't feel guilty. So why did he?

It was only due to Theo physically dragging him to potions that Draco hadn’t begged off sick. As it was, he stared pointedly ahead, eyes glued to the board and his and Theo’s cauldron. He refused to look back and see the pained look on her face. He refused to feel any more guilty for something she should have expected anyway. 

They were making a day dreaming potion, and he was shaking so badly Theo had thrown him on the stirrer and left him there. That was until the sound of small explosions had him diving under his desk. 

He was at least spared the embarrassment of being alone, with Theo beside him. Looking around the room, he saw most of the class in various states of cover, awkwardly laughing off their reaction as beautifully bright fireworks exploded from Granger and Weasley’s cauldron. Granger was standing with Girl Weasley, laughing as a burning caterpillar crawled along her skin before bursting upward into a blue butterfly in a rain of sparks.

“Brilliant! Just brilliant. Ten points to Gryffindor. Five for being the first and five for such a wonderful display.” Slughorn cast a containment charm over the cauldron, siphoning the liquid into a variety of vials and handing one to each of the girls. “I think that warrants an afternoon off for you, get cleaned up and go enjoy your day dream, girls.”

Hermione smiled a heartbreakingly open smile, a starry firework zapping around in her hair before fizzling out. She was… fine. Not dazed, or afraid, or upset. Fine. That was odd.

Slughorn turned to Weasley, tapping on the desk in front of her. “You Weasleys have a way with potions. I never taught the twins, but I have seen some of their work and it’s astounding! Nice to see it pop up again with you.” 

The fat idiot missed the way her head dropped, a curtain of red hair hiding her face.

Draco turned back to the potion, stirring twice as fast to account for the interruption when he heard Girl Weasley speak.

“Oh, Hermione,” Weasley said. “You have some ink on your neck. Let me-”

“No!” Granger shouted. 

The noise drew the attention of the room again, her hand blocking the other witches' wand. Draco stared at the smooth expanse of her throat, a slight purplish blue smudge dusting the skin and growing darker. The glitter of a fading glamour barely caught the light, covering his marks.

Why hadn’t she healed them?

“Er. Sorry, Gin.” Hermione laughed awkwardly pulling her rat’s nest of hair forward. “I still get jumpy…”

“No,” Weasley said while shaking her head. “My fault. Let’s head out, yeah?”

She cleared her throat as she packed all their notes into her bag. Granger nodded and set out for the door, her hand pressed carefully to her neck, and smiled. She fucking smiled, like she was proud of her little secret. Like he had spent the last two days wasting away for no reason.

Anger stoked in his chest. The idea that she would hide his marks sent an irrationally possessive wave through his body. Let alone the fact she was prancing around as if nothing had happened. His eyes followed her exit, even as his own cauldron pinged and started to echo with the sounds of the beach.

“Oh good show boys. The beach had always been a favorite-” Before Slughorn could continue Draco charmed the rest of the fluids into vials and quickly cleaned the cauldron. He was on his way to the door just as Theo’s arm reached out to grab him.

“Where’s the fire?” he questioned. Draco couldn’t help the way his eyes swung over to the empty bench. They flicked back to Theo, whose eyes softened pitifully. He knew that Theo was forming his own conclusions about why Draco Malfoy would be upset that Hermione Grand had had a wand pointed to her neck . The boy was basically a Hufflepuff. 

“Ah well… it’ll pass. Go take a breather, and try not to hex anyone.”

Draco nodded and shot out of the classroom like a dart, ignoring Slughorn’s calls that there was still an hour left. Theo would cover for him, but right now he had an idiot, bushy-haired Gryffindor to find. He made it to the end of the hall before smacking straight into Ginny Weasley as she rounded the corner. 

“Watch it, Gingersnap,” he hissed as he gathered his footing. He glanced behind her, but Granger was nowhere to be seen.

“Watch yourself, ferret.” She narrowed her eyes, far too perceptive for her own good. “What are you looking for?”

“No Granger today?” he questioned before he could think. The way the redhead bristled was sending him warning alarms but he was already in. He had to think of cover. “Is it safe for Saint Potter’s girlfriend to be wandering around alone?”

“I am just fine, Malfoy,” she responded sweetly. “But thank you so much for worrying.”

He stepped around her, waiting until he was at the corner to call over his shoulder. “I was talking about Granger, but it’s nice to hear you haven’t given up hope.” He dodged a nasty Bat-Bogey spell just as he rounded the corner, Weasley cursing as her spell splashed on the wall behind him.

That left two options. She could be going to her Head Girl room, which he couldn’t beat her to. Or she was going to the library. He set off in the opposite direction from the still-cursing Weasley with a long stride. The hallways were mostly empty, but nothing drew attention like a running Malfoy. 

After cutting through two courtyards and over a hedge that had Professor Sprout docking points, he slid into an alcove right outside of the library as she rounded the corner. It was a long walk in which he should have talked himself out of it… but something about her just made his blood boil.

Even as she moved through the halls she couldn’t just exist, she had to be doing something to prove that she was better than everyone else. Her wand scribbled a complex runic equation in the air. Or at least he thought it was Runes. It had numbers in it so he couldn’t be sure. Just as she passed in front of him, he reached out, pulling on the sleeve of her robe and tugging her out of sight.

He spun her behind the winged statue, pressing her against the wall even as she drew her wand to his neck. As terrifying as it was, the action sent a pleased purr down his throat.

“Malfoy.” 

“Granger.” 

He nodded, watching her face as she examined the area around them, her wand still tapping against his skin. Her soft breaths swept over his skin like an intoxicating balm. It had been all of three days but he was deeply disturbed to discover his body responding to the proximity of her. Fucking hormones.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

The haughtiness in her tone was enough to snap him out of it, reminding him why he had stormed out of potions. He leaned against her with a patented sneer as he crushed her against the wall. She let out a small whine, her eyes widening slightly. He silently cursed himself. It was so very dark to be turned on by the little pained noises she made. 

“Granger,” he spoke calmly, removing his hand from the wall and tracing her cheek and jaw line. “What in the fuck is this?”

Her eyes glazed lightly, her breath coming in short pants. It was getting harder for him to focus.

“What is what?”

He grabbed her chin and forced it to the side while he whispered a  _ finite incantatem _ . She shivered as the glamour fell away, revealing dark purple splotches with healing green edges. He frowned slightly. It had been three days since he had fucked her. He didn’t think he had bitten that hard. Something evil in his mind picked at him, making him feel proud, aroused, and disgusted at the same time.

His wand traced lightly over the painful-looking bruise, the movement stuttered as she squeaked quietly. The sound did terrible things to his body as he grew hard against her stomach. He turned her face back to him, staring at her until she looked up. 

Her gaze was lust-filled as he watched her, and it was like an answering call to his own irrational desires. In a precisely intentional move he pressed his thumb against the swollen skin. He hissed as she ground against him in response. The guilt eased in the face of her readiness. Who would have pegged Granger as the kinky one? His money had been on Girl Weasley. But he could work with this.

“Now. I went to all that hard work to give you what you wanted and you just hid it,” he murmured, just centimeters from her lips. He lightly dragged his hand across her neck. “You’re quite the ungrateful little chit.”

“I...I…” She stammered over the words as he traced his tongue down her neck, prodding at the angry tissue. Her hands spasmed against his chest, twisting in the shirt fabric. The action drew a growl from him. He had thought the game was over, that he had won. But perhaps she was a more skilled opponent than he had first realized. “Didn’t- Wan-.”

He hummed against her skin, flicking open the first button of her blouse, relishing the way she flinched, her body rubbing against his. 

“To- get- Caught- With-” 

He nodded in mock understanding and pushed the fabric aside with his wand, eyeing the uncovered mark on her perky tit. His mouth was on her skin the next moment, pulling a muted moan from her as she pressed her thighs together, his eyes never leaving her face. He didn’t intend to spend his afternoon fucking Hermione Granger against a statue of Gryhorn the Great, but suddenly it was on the top of the to-do list. Maybe multiple times if she kept making those sounds.

“With?” he questioned. His tongue slipped below the lacy fabric of her bra. He had broken the last one, but this one was nicer anyway. She keened softly, biting her lip to hold in the sound.

“With bruises? Don’t your friends know how you like it?” His mouth closed over her nipple, sucking her through the fabric and setting her spine ridged against him. His hand traced up her skirt, resting at the wetness leaking down her thighs with a spark of want. “Do they know you like to be thrown around? Chased down? Hurt?”

Merlin, he would screw her against the wall without holding back. Not even caring if some hapless first year happened across them. The thought sent a shiver up his spine.

“No.” 

She went ridged under his touch where he had previously been supple. He glanced up to meet her eyes, suddenly clear and angry. Oh, he loved that look too. That look was the stuff of wet dreams. She growled, a snarl pulling her perfect little lips. He didn’t get a chance to use those last time. Something he would rectify today. 

“With you,” she bit out. Something in her tone caused him to freeze. He blinked slowly, watching her anger grow.

“Pardon?” He pulled his hand from the folds of her skirt, trying not to think about how damp his fingertips were. 

“I said-” She shook him off, moving to stand to the side, her back to the exit and wand drawn. “I didn’t want to get caught with you.”

The lash stung more than he thought it would. Especially since it made perfect sense. He had no interest in anyone finding out about that little moment of weakness either. But she didn’t need to make it so personal. Especially considering here they were, with his mouth on her three days later, and pinned to the wall. 

“Oh,” was all he could manage to say through his wounded pride. 

“Obviously,” she added.

“Right.”

“Because it would be asinine to-”

“I get it, Granger. No need to clarify,” he hissed. 

He stepped away to lean back against the stone wings. He watched her cross her arms over her chest, that one button hanging dangerously open to reveal the damage he had done. She glanced up at him, scoffing in disgust. She buttoned up her shirt and recast the glamour charms blindly. He scowled and watched the marks fade away.

“Don’t look like a kicked puppy.” 

“You sure know how to bruise a man’s ego,” he commented. 

“Your ego can take it. I believe your exact words were ‘don’t bother me again’,” she responded. “As you can imagine, that is a bit difficult when you are yanking me into alcoves to feel me up.”

“Hardly.” 

He kept his voice level as he watched her. She was so nonchalant about it, so confident. Like he didn’t even matter. That fucking stung. And he wanted her to sting too. 

“It’s just so much fun to see you squirm, how you get off on being violently used in an empty classroom by someone who hates your guts. What would your little proper friends think? I wonder how they would react if I told them.”

She flinched, and he was barely able to force down the flutter of victory in his stomach. She took a deep breath, pulling her arms back into a stretch, her chest pushing forward as she shook out her shoulders. It just occurred to him that she was probably still sore from when he slammed her into the wall. He didn’t feel too bad about that now.

“I’m not ashamed of what I like, Malfoy. You aren’t the first, and you won't be the last,” she responded calmly, checking her nails for invisible dirt. “You can’t make me feel bad about this. Pick another target.”

“Y-You-” 

His mouth snapped shut, rage broiling below the surface. He had absolutely no reason to be possessive or angry. None whatsoever... Well, at least she didn’t have some Death Eater kink or something. Or maybe she had… fuck. Didn’t Snape talk to her a bunch in fifth year? Oh Merlin, that was a horrifying thought.

“Well, if you are done sputtering like an idiot, can I go? I have a Transfiguration assignment I am dreadfully behind on.” She gazed out into the hallway like they were just talking about the weather.

“And you’re asking permission why?” he said, trying not to hiss. She looked at him oddly. She slid her wand back into her pocket, her hip popping out. He regretted not bruising her there, too. 

“I want to make sure you won't drag me back in here the second I turn around.” Her tone was annoying. Made worse by the fact he had already considered doing that. With a growl, he pushed past her knocking her into the wall as he did so. 

“Don’t procrastinate on my account,” he growled. “I wasn’t the one whimpering against the wall.”

“Can’t make me feel bad about this, Malfoy,” she drawled in an oddly fetching tone and glided out after him. She swirled on her heel, the wind catching her skirt just a bit, revealing a flash of something green as she walked away. He bit down on his cheek to keep from responding as she called over her shoulder. “I am who I am, but I am also just fine without you.” 

He forced his feet to stomp down the hall with a feeling oddly similar to when she would beat him in a class when they were younger. The comparison did nothing to quiet the hot magma burning through his blood stream.


	7. Chapter 7

The clarity lasted two weeks. Two blasted weeks where she was aware and herself. Where she would turn her neck and wince in delicious pain. Where she would start to drift away and easily pull herself back by running her fingers over her wrist where he had held her down. Where she excelled at her courses and laughed with her friends. She had even actually remembered to owl George with a casual request for bruise paste which arrived the day after Malfoy cornered her. She laughed as she pulled out an industrial sized amount of it at breakfast with a simple note.   
  


_ Having fun then? Good for you. -G. _

Ron didn’t get it but Ginny was more than happy to skiv some off after dates with Harry. 

However as they passed into October her mind started to fuzz again. Just little things here and there at first, easily excusable as tiredness or overindulging in the weekend parties. She was happy to ignore it completely until she noticed everyone watching her walk in for breakfast in the morning with cautious eyes, waiting for her to speak. By the time the second Monday before Halloween rolled around she was back to being gone more often than not, her attention wilting like a flower in the face of fall.

“I say we all go to the Burrow. It’s homey and mom’s a great cook,” Ron was saying when she snapped back to dinner.

“What? Isn’t it a bit early to be thinking about winter hols?” Hermione questioned. She was deeply hoping she hadn’t missed months streaming by.

“The week we get off for Harry's heroic murder of the Dark Lord… the first one.” Dean supplied from her left. 

He (and most of the table really) was watching the tennis match between siblings with great amusement. Harry for his part was blushing a deep red. No one had asked him if he wanted a holiday in his honor. Ginny responded while stabbing a sausage. The motion made most of the men in attendance wince. 

“No way. I want to hold Harry’s hand without mum breathing down my neck about a wedding and how alcohol will hurt the baby.”

“You could stand to do that less mate,” Ron muttered to Harry, who just smiled into his potatoes. 

“Hey toejam brains. Eyes on me,” Ginny growled, much to the amusement of eavesdroppers. “If you want to go home then go. We’ll all-” She pointed her skewered sausage in a triangle of Harry, her and Hermione. “Stay at Grimmauld.”

“I can’t go alone! It’ll be boring!” Ron whined. 

The tone of it sent Hermione into a slight giggle. Suddenly sensing blood in the water Ron spun to Hermione and grabbed her hand pleadingly. 

“‘Mione! You’ve got to come to the Burrow with me. You know you’re mum’s favorite daughter!”

“Absolutely not.” Hermione barked a laugh ignoring Ginny’s indignant snort from across the table. She tried to pull her arm away only to have him dramatically fall to his knees. She cried his name in between laughs, trying to break up the dramatic play.

“Stop it you fool. If we are the only ones to show up she’ll start bugging _us_ about a wedding.”

Ron blanched, something that may have offended her last year but not anymore. Suddenly his face broke out into a wide, suspicious smile. It triggered her mischief instinct, something that had become well developed after spending so much time with his brother.

“Well in that case.” He cleared his throat just as Hermione heard a heavy Irish Brogue say ‘oh no’.

“Hermione Jean Granger.” Ron swept his hand around grandly bowing his head low. “Will you do me the honor-”

“Don’t you dare!” 

“Of becoming my bride?” He paused for the expected gasp from Harry and Ginny laughing wildly from the other side of the table. 

“Ronald Weasley! You know I don’t love you like that.”

“Eh, Mum loves you enough for the both of us.”

Their section of the Great Hall was silent except for the whispers passing to the other ends of the table. Hermione breathed in slowly, her anger trying to take the jovial mood from her. Instead she bent down to him at the waist speaking in a clear loud voice. 

“I really think of us more as... fellow dark wizard killers.” 

The Gryffindor table burst into laughter along with a few awkward chuckles from the DA members scattered around the room. There was even a snicker or two from Slytherin before they were quickly hushed. Ron shot up gesturing in a wide circle. 

“You all saw it! I tried. So when my mother murders me over this break for missing out on a girl like ‘Mione. You can all say I tried!” 

The hall broke into laughter, more than familiar and a bit afraid of the Weasley Matriarch. For as many cruel jokes and judgmental comments made throughout the years, after watching the woman carbonize Bellatrix no one wanted to cross her. 

As the group settled down still arguing about where they were going to stay Hermione felt the odd nagging sensation at the back of her mind that told her she was being watched. She cast her eyes over to the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy was looking murderously at her. 

Against her better judgement she winked then held her hand out dramatically to Lavender to coo over her nonexistent ring. She openly laughed when Malfoy’s fork bent. Zabini looked up, following the blonde’s gaze to where it was trained on her. He whispered a comment and Malfoy responded with something that had the other boy flinching before he got up and strode out of the Great Hall. 

Hermione sighed the fog drifting back around her brain now that he was gone and the spectacle was over. She turned to the still arguing sibling to make the final call.

“We will  _ all _ stay at Grimmauld Place and we will join your mother at the Burrow for meals. After all we  _ do _ have magic and none of us can cook.” She paused for a moment as they turned their whole focus on her. 

“Ron you will leave them alone on their dates and you two,” She gestured to Harry and Ginny. “Will be keeping it child friendly around your brother, since that is what he is.”

“Oi!” Ron barked in offense before laughing lightly. “Now there’s the Hermione we know and love. Try to stick around yeah? I will need you when these two get handsy.”

The table was so busy laughing that they missed her small voice, lost in the crowd.

“I don’t know if I can.”

000000000000000000

She was drifting through the hallway for head rounds that Wednesday before ‘Harry Hols’ as Ginny calls them— much to his annoyance. She had caught three couples on her first set of rounds but forgotten to write them up leading to two chocolate frogs and one Sizzlit Swirl as incidental bribes. Figuring she was complicit at this point she sucked on the sizzlit enjoying herself as the world flashed in different monochrome colors with every lick. 

She was admiring a particularly calming shade of blue when the door to a broom closet burst open and she was summoned by her shirt. Her sizzlit fell with a crack breaking the charm as the door slammed behind her. 

Without missing a beat she pressed against the body around her and pushed off her center of balance with a sharp shove making room for a fighting stance. It was only as the light glittered off of white hair that the rational part of her brain registered the situation.

“Pulling a war survivor into a dark and confined space. You are lucky you still have your bollocks Malfoy,” she growled. Almost begrudgingly, she dimmed her light to less than blinding.

“You still need those,” he answered off handedly. 

Without any regard for the situation he leaned against the back wall, looking perfectly in place amongst the dust cloths and mops. He regarded her cooly, his eyes roving over her body as he examined her. 

“You’re alright then?”

“What?” she snapped.

Suddenly she remembered the names of one of the fourth year Hufflepuff couples. _Bollocks. Too late now._

“You’ve been… dazed. Spacey lately. Like you were when school started.” He paused, ending his examination of her. “So it’s just an act then?”

“You’re checking up on me?” she questioned incredulously. 

“I would rather hate to be implicated in a mental breakdown.” 

“Oh yes. Because the lack of your cock would be enough to drive a girl to insanity. Get over yourself Malfoy.”

“Merlin are you always this prickly?” he growled. “What happened to the sweet and innocent Golden Girl.”

“She died violently in a war. Partially on your living room floor. Any other questions or should I look forward to you kidnapping me later this week? I think I have time on Friday just after Charms.”

“It was a drawing room you peasant,” he responded, throwing his arms into the air. “Fuck me for noticing. Not that anyone else did.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

She angled her wand back towards him. If she hexed him now they probably wouldn’t find him until after the break. Maybe he would have starved to death by then. That would be nice.

“It means your friends are either fucking clueless or don’t give a damn. Especially your ‘fiancé’.” He smirked openly, an act that set her blood boiling. “Does he know I’m fucking you?” 

  
  


“Okay so first off you aren’t. Secondly-” She cut off the sentence as her brain caught up to his words. “Fiancé?”

He scowled briefly before contorting his face back into a cool mask of nonchalance.

“You cannot be serious. Good Godric. It was a joke. Are you deaf or just stupid?”

“The point still stands. Your friends suck. You’re a fucking wreck Granger. And they haven’t even noticed. As a matter of fact the only time you seem remotely on your game is around me. Why is that?”

He pushed off of the wall, an unfamiliar look flitting across his face before disappearing. She rolled her eyes, as he postured.

“They have noticed and it bugs the shite out of me when they fuss. So unlike your average psychopath that goes pulling people into broom closets in the middle of the night, they just leave me alone about it.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

He smirked looming above her, eyes sparking darkly. She cursed herself as she realized that she had (in a roundabout way) implied that there was something wrong with her. To Malfoy of all people.

“It doesn’t deserve a response.” 

“You know Granger,” he purred in that low voice that shook her down to her toes. 

“You can call it whatever you want. Stress relief, punishment, even love for all the fucks I give. But you can’t deny it.” She shivered as his hand ghosted down her neck tracing bruises long since faded. Bruises she secretly wished would be replaced. “You need me.”

She rejected the warmth in between her legs and that oh-so-painful need for friction and just a lance of pain. Instead she stepped back to the door, wrapping her hand around it and firmly telling herself she wasn’t running away.

“Get Fucked Malfoy.” As she left, she thanked whatever gods could hear her that she would be going back to London in the next few days.

0000000000000000

For all the parties that fell on the week of Lord Voldemort’s first defeat, they were just having the usual get-together at the Burrow. That Saturday Harry would attend the Ministry gala but other than that, Harry Hols were to be spent relaxing in his mind. 

Which Hermione could almost agree with. However, the first three days were spent wandering around Grimmauld Place, trying to remember which rooms were cursed and which rooms just had bad things in them, and slowly driving her housemates crazy. By the time Halloween rolled around on Thursday the three of them were dying to drop her somewhere where she wouldn’t accidentally blow up the whole house if they weren’t watching.

They arrived at the Burrow to the standard Weasley clan plus Andromeda and Teddy. Harry gathered his god child in his arms with the practiced grace of an eighteen-year-old only child. Which was to say barely at all and refusing to stand. There was food and ice cream at some point and funny jokes that she always laughed too late on. 

There were also pitying looks sent her way in spades along with careful tailored questions. By the time George closed up shop and joined the fray everyone was multiple drinks in and was more than ready for a quick laugh. Particularly with Ginny being so far gone that her mother was shooting her disapproving looks every time she spoke.

“That is it.” Molly announced after Ginny fell over the couch dragging a giggling Harry with her and peppering kisses on his face hours later. 

“You are all staying here.” She glared pointedly at her daughter. “In separate rooms!”

Hermione was curled up on the rocking chair watching the party break apart as people floo’d or apparated home. Bill and his daughter— Hope? No, Triumph. Jesus, she _knew_ this— stepped into the floo and were gone before she could stumble over her mistake. Slowly the living room emptied out until Ginny and Harry stumbled upstairs to a room she would  _ not _ be staying in, leaving her, Ron, and George by the fire. Glancing around and realizing his mistake Ron quickly excused himself practically running up the stairs as George laughed.

“How are you, George?” she questioned. There was something distinct about the sounds of the Burrow bedding down for the night. Something comforting.

“Same as always,” he replied. He cracked his neck as he stood. “I’m more worried about you.”

“Me? Why?”

“Must be pretty bad then?” 

He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels awkwardly. George may have turned into quite the rogue in the past half a year but he was still very awkward with her. She set down her cup before responding. 

“What do you-”

“Ron owled me.”

“Did he?” She raised an eyebrow feeling the familiar spark of anger stretch her mind. 

“Oh, don’t be like that,” George chided. 

“What did he say?”

“And I quote ‘I don’t know what you do and I don’t want to know what you do but she needs whatever it is.’ I’m touched, truly.” George smiled as she flushed, clenching her hands and cursing Ron’s mother beneath her breath. “Careful, that's my mother too… And practically yours as a matter of fact.”

“He had no right.” 

“No he didn’t but…” He guided her chin up to his face, something she used to love but now just felt too gentle. “Was he right?”

She breathed for a moment, feeling not only like a head case but a burden as he watched her. Her tongue wet her lips and his eyes tracked the movement. She promised herself she would stop but the need was as apparent on his face as her own.

“Yeah. He was,” she responded.

George nodded. He glanced over his shoulder once to check that they were alone before tangling his hand into her hair and guiding her toward the floo roughly. He called out the name of his flat and sent her stumbling as he threw her onto the floor with a crash. Her fingers twisted into the familiar braided rug in front of his floo as he stalked to the bedroom.

“Wait here. You are not to move from that exact spot.”

He was gone in a rustle of clothing leaving her to wait for him to get ready.

She remembered the first time she came to him, stumbling up the stairs, too drunk to apparate from the Leaky and shamefully needy as she slammed on his door until he opened it with a blanket half pulled around his waist and nothing else.

“Hermione?” He had questioned, flicking the slightly damp hair from his forehead with a shake of his neck. She thought he had just showered. “Who died?”

When she broke down crying he shushed her pulling her into the living room and planting her on the rug to wait for him when she refused to sit. She would have missed the blonde woman leaving if it weren’t for her speaking.

“Who’s that?”

“Family emergency Doll,” George responded, sending her on her way with a distinct smack that cleared Hermione’s mind instantly. “I’ll owl you later.”

When he came back to her he was dressed in tie string pants holding a bottle of sober up. She took quick pulls on the bottle, cursing Ginny for her bad example and terrible suggestions. She feverishly brushed away all his attempts to stop her from flooing. It was only when she had fallen onto the floor with him pinning her wrist down to keep her from apparating that she realized what was happening... To his credit, he didn’t judge while he helped her figure herself out, even when she had pushed too far.

She lost her virginity on this rug, not in any romantic sense of the word, but hard and fast, leaving her muscles sore and mind clear for days afterward. She visited all summer, once a week just to keep the edge off but still enough time to let the bruises fade. He always looked so sad when he saw them. After that last time, she hadn’t come back at all.

When he returned to his living room Hermione had shifted to her knees, eyes cast down.

“Why are you here?” he questioned.

It felt like he was playing a part. And she supposed he was. She was just a hair too familiar for him. In the early days when she considered dating him, he let her down softly. He couldn’t bear to hurt her when he would inevitably tire of her. He must have known, they were just a shade off from what each other needed, even then.

“I need you,” she responded softly. 

It was almost a whisper as she folded her hands in her lap. He growled, his bare feet appearing on the carpet in front of her. The deep plum dress pants from earlier catching on a draft. Her stomach glowed bubblegum pink as he cast the contraceptive charm. He crouched down, his hand guiding her eyes to meet his.

“What do you need?” he questioned again, softly. Like a lover's caress. 

It was gentle enough to set her eyes watering. He was pushing for something; she didn’t know why. But it wasn’t as if she had any other options. Her brain conjured up a wooden desk and a classroom before she could stop it. 

Any  _ acceptable  _ options, that was. He waited patiently, unwilling to move until he got his answer.

“Please,” She muttered, hating how his eyes softened. “I need to feel something.” 

She gasped as he pulled her to the couch by the arm. Insistently, but not hard enough to bruise. She wanted him to bruise, she wanted new marks to drown out the memory of old ones that had burned themselves into her flesh.

He pulled her to his lips, expertly molding himself around her with a grace born from variation and practice. He bit at her lower lip, enticing a low moan at the back of her throat. He pulled her hair back in a shakingly familiar manner that set her body alight at once. George nipped and sucked at the flesh of her throat, leaving careful trails of kisses along her collarbone and shoulders. 

“More,” she moaned, twisting her hand into his hair. He hesitated before biting more deeply, pulling up just enough skin to mark it. It would have to do.

When he pulled down the shoulder of her blouse she saw bursting buttons, clattering against the stone floor in the moonlight. Instead he expertly unbuttoned her blouse with a spell. Removing his own shirt, he draped his striped tie around her neck. 

George pushed her onto the ground in front of him, pulling himself to a sitting position. Grabbing at his tie he pulled her to her knees in front of him, the clicking of his belt sending shivers down her spine. He released himself in front of her, pulling her closer until her hand encircled the thick shaft, ripping a groan from him. He glanced down at her watching in every move. He tugged once on the tie, pulling her mouth to the tip of his cock.

“Suck.” 

Heat pooled between her legs, begging for attention as she opened her mouth to swirl around the head. Her tongue flicked across the tip, back and forth as he sighed deeply. She teased him a few minutes until an answering growl drew her attention. 

She had only a moment before his hand cupped her neck and pushed her down, taking much of the considerable length of him down her throat. He shook, restraining the urge to thrust against her as he pulled her out slowly before forcing her back down. Her throat stretched around him, adjusting to the girth as she manually controlled her breathing, letting him set the pace as she swallowed him. The dampness in her knickers grew, slickening against the fabric until it seeped down her thighs. When she started shifting in place George pulled her off and stood, dragging her by the tie to the bedroom. He slammed open the door and shoved her onto her stomach on the bed, pulling down her shorts and underwear in one smooth motion. 

“There there,” he chuckled, running his finger up her slit and setting her squirming for contact as he dusted kisses along her back. 

“You are so needy... just begging to be fucked.” He circled her clit expertly, in just the right way to send pulses up her spine. “Walking around so perfectly smart and beautiful in those sinful little skirts.” 

He smacked her ass suddenly, setting her skin burning and her fingers grasping for purchase. She cried out, trying to ingrain the sting into her memory.

“Oh yes. You’re begging for it.” He sunk two fingers into her then stopped, refusing to move as Hermione writhed around him. “Well go on then,” he crooned, watching over her shoulder, “beg for it.”

“Please. Please, George.”

“Please what Hermione?” he questioned as he pumped slowly. 

She moaned and clenched around him. Drawing an unexpected ‘shite’ from him. He had no way of knowing of course. That she was not above begging, not to those exact words.

“Please fuck me.” She asked nicely, keening when his fingers pulled away. She felt him lined up against her, pulling her hips up to meet his as she stumbled onto her hands and knees.

“And why should I fuck this tight little pussy?” 

He prodded against her teasing her entrance with short shallow thrust. She answered as she always did but this time with a deeper lust as sinfully forbidden mercury eyes flashed in her memory.

“Because I deserve it.” 

And then he was sinking into her carefully, giving her body time to adjust even when she begged for more. It was something he never budged on and she learned not to push. After a painfully long moment he pulled back thrusting in tentatively, groaning her name as he sunk into her. He pushed her back down, knocking her chest flat into the bed with her arse in the air. Hermione whined softly as he gathered her wrist behind her back.

“Trust me.” 

Hermione wasn’t going to argue but when he thrust back in slowly she felt him rub against something inside of her that sent chills down her back and tore moans from her throat. 

“You like that don’t you? Falling into my bed and moaning like a whore while you beg for me.” She cried as he did it again drawing out the pleasure as he taunted her, his grip tightening. “Maybe you are one. What do you think, Hermione? Are you a whore?”

She screamed as he snapped his hips back slamming into that spot repeatedly until she was desperately clawing at his hands. He released her with a swear and grabbed onto her hips, finally hard enough to bruise. 

“Yes. Yes I am,” she moaned to the room, fisting her hand in the sheets as a familiar coil wound tightly in her, her walls fluttering with each pull.

“Fuck I’m going to come,” he growled.

In one swift move he pulled her up by the tie until her body was flush against his. He grasped at her clit, grinding his thumb into her flesh as he sent her flying over the edge. She screamed, the image of a blond head of hair and a victorious smirk filling her head as her body sung. She didn’t even notice when George had finished, or when he gently lowered her down to the bed, rubbing slow circles on her stomach as he wrapped himself around her. When she had finally stopped shaking he kissed her on the head.

“Hermione,” he started, cautiously. “I’m concerned.”

She flinched, she hated those words vicerserally.

“You said I didn’t need to be ashamed.”

“You don’t, love.” He kissed her neck softly, frowning at the bruises. “You don’t. I am just worried that you are getting worse instead of better.”

There was silence while he waited. He had always been the more patient twin, balancing out Fred’s wildness. The loss of his other half sent him careening to a life of causal sex with faceless women. She was the only exception, one he made even though it hurt him. Destroying their friendship until it was somewhere between family and lover, never able to take the step towards either. She was good at hurting people apparently...

“He cursed me,” she murmured to the ceiling.

She waited for the indignation or offense. But it never came. It never would with George. He seemed to all but lack the ability to judge.

“What happened?” His lips tickled at her hair as he brushed away her tears. Pointless considering more just fell. She didn’t notice that she had started to cry.

“I am losing more of myself,” she admitted, though she hated to. But when counting her good days against bad the number tallied up miserably. “And then he comes along and everything is clear for weeks at a time. It’s like I had spent my whole life without glasses and then could suddenly see.”

“Why is that a problem?” He pulled her close to his chest, a picture of understanding.

“We can’t-... I can’t-” 

“Does he want to?” 

“Well… yes. I am pretty sure.”

“Then why not?” The circles on her stomach were growing slower, lazier as he began to slip into sleep.

“It’s Malfoy.” 

He tensed and so did she, horrified that she let it slip. She counted the seconds waiting for his reaction.

“Senior or Junior?” 

In a viscerally primal reaction she sent a swift slap to his chest that made them both laugh. His circles continued as he thought. 

“So we have established that it could be worse.”

“You aren’t mad?” She lifted her head to watch his face. He had been staring at the ceiling but turned his attention on her.

“No. Confused in what you see in such a git but not mad.” His eyes flashed for a brief moment in the brotherly affection that just felt weird while lying like this. “Should I be?”

“No,” she laughed, resting her cheek on his bare chest. She fingered the tie around her neck, an old school one with bright gold and red stripes. The image of blood seeping into silver colored her thoughts. “If anything, I am responsible for this mess.”

“Bastard deserves it.” George murmured, earning another smack. “Well he does. Little git is shitty his whole life and manages to come out of it getting to listen to all those sweet little noises you make. Some blokes get all the luck.”

“Oh stop it.” She sat up and stretched her shoulders out. They protested the rough treatment but only slightly. It was not nearly enough. 

“Really Hermione,” George said with an alarming amount of seriousness. “You are an absolute treasure and anyone would be lucky to have you.”

“George. That’s sweet. But we both know that isn’t true.” Her eyes met him sadly, the conversation spoken a hundred times.

“If you ever deign to lower yourself to a rakish heathen like me, I _will_ marry you Hermione. In a Merlin bedamned minute. You can have the family, and love and life you deserve the second you are ready for it.” She flinched, but he kept going. “I know I am not what you need or want but I would try. Because you are kind and loving and wonderful and _that_ is what you fucking deserve. And if you are wasted on that tasteless git because he is too blind to see it I will personally find a way to ensure that his entire haunted manor is buried under a swamp. You know I can do it.”

“George…” 

Her heart melted for the redhead sitting in bed, sheets pooled around his waist with a half smile of tranquility plastered on his face. Maybe in another life, where they hadn’t lost so much. 

“You know I don’t share.”

“And what a right shame that is,” he responded, falling back onto the bed dramatically as she laughed.

“A right shame indeed.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Hey ‘Mione. You’ve got something on your neck,” Ron stated off handedly as they boarded the train. “Looks like ink or something.”

Hermione cursed pulling out a hand mirror at the not quite gone marks. Ginny had packed the bruise paste to keep Ron from bursting a blood vessel and Hermione had no idea where she put it.

“You guys go ahead and pick out a compartment,” Ginny called out. 

Without another second of doubt she pulled Hermione by her arm into an empty bathroom and shut the door.

“Ginny what-”

“Oh hush you aren’t fooling anyone but Ron.” The red head tutted as she pulled the cream out of her purse— selfish bitch— and pulled Hermione's hair to the side. After a few moments of silence Ginny sighed.

“Did it have to be my  _ other _ brother?” Ginny questioned with fake annoyance while dabbing on the paste. 

Hermione considered the question, not for the first time. She had always wondered if her interests were something she could find elsewhere. Would someone like Dean or Anthony Goldstein be willing to try it? Would they want to? Or only like it enough just to satisfy her? Ultimately she came to the same conclusion every time. She didn’t want someone to like her  _ enough _ . She wanted someone to love her  because of _and_ in spite of her proclivities.

“It isn’t your brother,” Hermione murmured meaningfully, pausing Ginny’s attention before she started on the other side. Ginny looked at her sadly and sighed, nodding her head. 

“Well, I have two more to pick from. Might as well try the whole lot!” Hermione squealed at Ginny’s ridiculousness, her laughter carrying. Ginny waited until she just about had control of herself before adding. “I have heard absolutely disgusting things about Percy.”

Hermione was still clutching her stomach minutes later when the door opened with a quick snap. The paste clattering to the floor and bumping against the heel of patented leather shoes, killing her humor immediately. Malfoy stood in the doorway as the train lurched into movement, his eyes taking in the scene.

“Well with all the squealing I assume you are killing a kneazle or having wild sex in here. Both of which are against school rules. Stop.”

“What kind of sex are you having where women laughing at you is common place?” Ginny snapped back. 

She didn’t even pause as she gathered up her jar. Which meant she missed the absolutely filthy look Malfoy shot over her shoulder. The bored flat visage morphed to one of sheer satisfaction that had Hermione shifting where she stood.

“I don’t know Weasley. Maybe I can find you someone to ask.”

“Gag me please. We were done anyway. Hermione let’s-”

“Actually,” Draco responded, stepping out of the doorway to avoid being bowled over by the girl before locking his arm across the frame in front of Hermione. Ginny snorted indignantly but he ignored it. “Apparently Granger is needed in Corner’s compartment. Something about scheduling rounds with the upcoming exams.”

Ginny looked suspiciously at Malfoy before shooting her a pitying look. “Rough luck. I could come help?”

“No,” Hermione sighed, shaking her head. "I'll be alright. Head back to the boys."

When Michael got into a fit about schedules he would not let it go until they were done. No reason to drag Ginny into it. She waved goodbye to her friend and headed towards the front of the train. It was only as she stepped into the compartment Draco had opened in an empty car that Hermione realized that Michael had stayed at the school over break. The door slammed shut behind them, the curtains pulled down and locked as he stared at her.

“I thought you were done pulling me into dark corners,” she murmured. Despite her best intentions her muscles quivered.

“You walked in here freely,” he countered, eyes glued to her neck. “What is that?”

“Oh not this game again.” 

She tried to push past him while simultaneously not touching him. It was a spectacular failure when he caught her wrist and spun her around, maneuvering her back against his chest. His hand tracing along her jaw, the side where Ginny had been dabbing already healed. He cast a wandless _ finite incantatem _ over her skin and prodded it with his finger tips.

“See. Nothing there.” She glared at him over her shoulder hating the way her pulse skipped wildly. “You will have to satisfy your voyeuristic needs elsewhere.

His hand circled around her neck and he nipped at the skin just behind he ear. She shivered against him, enticing a low laugh. 

“Other side, Granger.”

Her cheeks burned as his thumb directed her jaw bone to the side, revealing a still fading set of bruises peppering her skin. A low growl vibrated against her back. It was a feral sound that turned her bones to jelly and blanked her mind. Much to her horror, she felt Malfoy brush his lips against it the still-healing skin.

“This was what you replaced me with?” he questioned acidically.

The hand gripping her wrists tightened enough to make her wince. He pulled at her cuffs, ripping the button from the sleeve and revealing the darker but still nearly gone bruises. 

“Tut Tut Granger.” He shook his head disapprovingly. “That is some piss poor work. It’s barely been a week.” 

“Well it’s not you so it’s already infinitely better.” 

She tried to twist out of his grasp but it was only half-hearted. Her traitorous body was perfectly fine with being degraded by Malfoy in a train car.

“Let’s see what else you've been up to.” 

Malfoy flicked his wrist, untucking her shirt from her jeans while watching her reflection in the window. He looked hungry, and a bit deranged to be honest. She stiffened as he pulled the fabric upwards, pausing his movement. There was a moment there, hanging in the air where they just stared at each other.

His eyes dropped first and he buried his face in her neck obscuring it from view. He muttered something so softly and heartbreakingly gentle she almost didn’t hear it. 

“Your wand is right there Granger.” 

A reminder. An out. She hated the small surge of affection that welled up inside of her and stomped it down. He didn’t deserve it.

Hermione waited, watching the landscape of outer London pass behind their reflection. When he finally looked up, she realized he was waiting for her to set the rules of the game. Hermione chewed her lip as she thought, inviting the possibility of danger before slightly nodding. The look of satisfaction on his face should have been illegal. 

He pulled at the shirt inch by inch until it rested over her chest, his hands tracing the edges of her bra in slow gentle movements with not nearly enough pressure. George was a plaster over a break but Malfoy was a wildfire when you just needed a candle. She squirmed against him, feeling a delicious thick length push against her thighs.

“Ah ah.” 

Malfoy released her wrist using the arm to wrap around her chest and neck holding her in place. The still purple imprints of hands on her hips from where George had held her, all but glowed against her skin. It's how George had pulled her to the edge; the edge where she saw Malfoy.

“Now this,” He traced a single finger over the tender skin, tensing at her intake of breath. “-this upsets me.” 

His eyes met hers in the reflection glinting cruelly as heat pooled between her legs. 

“Did you ride him in his lap Granger?” he purred, closing his hand around the imprint, making her release a breathy moan. 

“No. I doubt it.” He shook his head and pulled her tight arse tight against him. The hardened length pulling the fabric of her jeans along her core. She moaned, her legs shaking as he held her up. “He fucked you from behind, didn’t he?”

Hermione held in her cries more than aware there was no silencing spell up. Suddenly her shirt dropped and he was holding her neck in his hand again. 

“Well Granger? Did he?”

Her body twitched desperate for any kind of stimulation, even as dangerous as the question seemed. She wrapped her palm around her wand just for comfort, just in case, and met his eyes as they burned through her reflection.

“Yes.”

He scowled. Pure rage and jealousy and hate crossed his expression, his lips pulling into a sneer and his body tightening behind her. Not that he had any right to her at all.

“Who?”

“No.” 

She wouldn’t tell him that. Not ever. It was something between her and George and no other party was privy to what went on between them.

“Tell me,” he demanded, his hand dropping to trace a tauntingly light circle on her hip bone.

“No.”

“Tell me and I will let you come,” he promised, his finger dragging over the zipper of her jeans, the vibrations drawing out a tortured moan from her lips. 

“N-No.” 

The refusal was week as her hips thrust upward, looking for any slight friction they could find. His gaze went stormy before settling into a cruel smile as he turned her to face him, twisting her hair in his hand. 

“Fine. But you did this to yourself. Close your eyes.”

Hesitantly, her eyes drifted shut. She didn’t know what was going to happen but she was desperate to find out. She flinched when he stepped away, waiting for the next move. When she heard the door unlatch and she spun wildly toward it, seeing him step half way out. He paused just long enough to look back thoughtfully.

“There are five marks on you that I did not make. Let’s call it seven to account for whatever you vanished. Come see me in a week Granger.” 

She squeaked, her whole body rioting at the idea of his departure. 

“Fuck off Malfoy. I don’t need you.” It even sounded thready and weak to her as she tried her best not to rub her thighs together.

“Then I am sure you will find no difficulty finding someone else willing to humor you in Gryffindor. Or maybe Hufflepuff, I hear their parties get wild.” He regarded her as he stepped into the hallway, the door half closed when he paused.

“I don’t share Granger. Learn that.” 

“I’m not yours Malfoy.” She breathed.

He smirked watching the way her knees clattered together in a vain attempt to hold her up.

“I’ve decided you are.”

The door clicked just as her legs gave out.

0000000000000000

Draco threw himself onto the compartment bench completely ignoring the way Theo scrambled out of the way. 

“Oi, watch it.” Blaise narrowly avoided his swinging legs as he kicked them up on the bench.

“Can it Zabini. I've got a headache.” 

He threw an arm over his eyes and willed his heart to stop racing from that gamble he just took. It shouldn’t bother him. He shouldn’t even be sniffing around her in the first place. He couldn’t even blame the weak excuse of being ‘concerned’ that he had used a week ago to cover for his new found obsession. Not if she already found someone to take care of her.

And fuck if that didn’t burn at him.

He had made the decision the second night of break that he found himself walking past that fucking boarded up drawing room, a much less pleasurable scream echoing in his mind. She could use him until her self loathing ran out and that would be his penance. Hermione Granger could return to the world as a bright and happy rainbow while he wallowed in misery. It may be the only kind thing he will ever do in his life but it would have to be enough.

And his plan was ruined, because someone else fucking got there first.

“I’ve got a charm for that,” Theo offered. He settled next to Blaise. “I can cast it on you when we get our wands back.”

Draco scoffed, annoyed at the lack of his wand. The aurors stationed on the train should be coming around shortly to return it anyway, but they all had a habit of waiting as long as possible to do so.

“Sucks to be you.” Blaise smiled as he floated a book down from his bag, his wand flicking smoothly through the air.

“Stop showing off you cad,” Draco growled.

Blaise was just about to bite out a response when the door opened. Draco peeked out from under his arm at the pair of Ravenclaws before tucking back under it. He did not need to subject himself to those looks of disgust any more than necessary.

“Blaise,” one of them simpered, ignoring Draco’s scoff. “Why don’t you join us in our compartment? No use sitting alone...”

“I’m just fine where I am,” Blaise responded boredly. “Thanks anyway ladies.”

“Well if you change your mind…” the other one offered. “This compartment smells like death anyway.”

The door slammed shut, the clack a certain finality to it. Draco watched Theo frown and look out the window, his grip closing on a wand that wasn’t there.

“You should join them. They won’t be so indulgent of your social choices forever,” Draco commented, staring at the ceiling.

“I’m fine where I am.” Blaise thumbed at a page and Draco thought that maybe he was turning into a Hufflepuff too.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000

When they settled in the Great Hall he couldn’t help but notice how everyone else moved around them. Blaise got the occasional nod of flirty smile but he and Theo were invisible, only noticed enough to veer around without even glancing at. It could be worse, he supposed. He had only been hexed in the back three times this year so at least there was no hallway warfare.

The Slytherin table felt empty. Well... really all the house’s had missing seats, ghosts still occupied those spots and no matter how much everyone pretended otherwise, they couldn’t bring themselves to fill them. Still he took his seat facing the Gryffindor table as the remaining seventh years filed in around him. The Greengrass sisters settled as far away as possible while still maintaining the image of collectivity. Pansy sat across from him yammering on about France and shopping even though he knew she would have been unable to leave her house over break just like him. At least she didn’t have to think of watching a snake eat a professor every time she sat down for dinner. 

He had grown not to care, letting all feeling leech from him as he locked away his reactions inside of his head. He twirled his newly returned wand, having missed its weight in his hand. Granger was right about that. It was new. Made of aspen, it was an obvious departure from the darker color of his hawthorn. It was difficult to master and eager to duel, throwing out spells with the lightest thought.

Tracy Davis sat across from Daphne but still threw him wary looks every few minutes like she was afraid he would curse her any moment. He stopped twirling.

Malfoy's body jerked the moment she came in. Potter and Girl Weasley gestured wildly as they walked. He scowled when Potter threw a lazy arm around her shoulder and drug his wand through the air. Granger laughed in delight as an army of little colorful balloons with wicker baskets floated above the Gryffindor table, lit from within by tiny candles. He narrowed his eyes watching Potter tip his head to hers and whisper something that made her smile.

It wasn’t Potter, was it? It couldn’t have been Weasley, Draco didn’t think he had it in him to be quite frank. But Girl Weasley was fiery and who knew where her interest lay. He growled as Potter pulled her along by the wrist, his hand in the same shape as that bruise. Of course it would be Potter. Oh, that would be  _ just _ perfect.

“Mate.” Theo interrupted his thoughts before he could actually start planning Wonderboy’s death. “Keep doing that and you’ll start a rumor that you have been bitten.”

“Or that he’s got a thing for Potter.” Blaise swirled his fork. “But that would be more of a known secret wouldn’t it.”

“Don’t be jealous,” Pansy scoffed. “It’s unbecoming.”

“Practice what you preach Pans.” Blaise smiled innocently but it did nothing but deepen her scowl.

“I cannot be jealous of an inevitability.” She sighed poking at her salad. “Besides, my mother doesn’t care who I marry as long as they are pure and rich. You fit that category don’t you Blaise? I could start mentioning favoring you in letters.”

“Have mercy.” He coughed, blanching at the thought of Mrs. Parkinson setting her sights on him. “I think this week I will say my father was that half-blood. Husband… three was it?”

“Weren’t you already born when she married him?” Draco had to repress a laugh. It had been awhile since he had felt free enough to trade quips with his housemates. 

“Semantics.” 

Blaise shrugged him off and continued bickering with Pansy. Draco’s gaze drifted back to Gryffindor where Granger settled between Potter and Weasley laughing brightly when Longbottom produced a concerningly tall cactus from his pocket. He hugged Hermione from behind, looping an arm around her neck and squeezing lightly. 

Draco suddenly remembered his taunt for her to find someone else and paled. As if called, her eyes flicked up at him before she blushed and swiftly looked away. Maybe he would be able to enjoy the next week after all.

00000000000000000000000

Hermione had been jumpy all week. A large improvement from the drifting mess she was so accustomed to but still not particularly pleasant. As it was she had already powered through all her assignments for the next month, not wanting to focus on what a terrible decision she was about to make.

It was the second Monday back and precisely  _ eight  _ days since the attack on the train. She made a point to slip away from her friends after Charms, citing questions for Professor Flitwick which, to be fair to the group, could last hours when they were both on their game.

But instead she was wandering around corridors alone, not really doing much of anything and certainly not looking for a shock of blond hair. She knew better really, should just cut it off at the root and be done with it. Given her status she could probably even convince McGonagall to let her floo to George’s weekly and it would be enough until she graduated and found an _acceptable_ choice. He would hate it but it was an option. She needed a temporary solution that wasn’t a Death Eater, had a shred of integrity, and didn’t think her less for blood… But then again he had forced the best orgasm of her life out of her. She flushed, trying to sling the thought away. 

Why did he even want her? To toy with? It didn’t make any damn sense. If his goal was to ruin her reputation or to make her ashamed he could have done so already and been done with it. Why was he sullying himself with her now? 

It was, at the very least, a new puzzle to keep her mind busy. 

She hated how the thoughts of him dripped into her bed late at night. She hated that her fingers paled in comparison to his, not able to brush the right way with that crucial control that had her balancing on the edge. And she hated how every time since, when he would catch her eye, he would smirk while she shied away. But she would not go to him. If he wants to play the stupid game then fine, let him take whatever the hell it was he wanted. But she wouldn’t make it easy for him… which didn’t explain why she was walking the corridors near the dungeons just as Advanced Herbology got out.

Draco rounded the corner, his face hidden behind the mask of boredom that was apparently his default setting. She smirked standing in the center of the empty corridor, tipping her hip to one side and crossing her arms. 

“Afternoon Malfoy.” She forced herself not to look towards a disused staffroom. The corridor was quiet, his footsteps the only other sound.

“Granger.” 

He nodded, drawing closer to her. Her heart skipped a beat as he continued on his path to her, admiring his long stride and elegant movement. He was so damn gorgeous that it was strictly unfair. What had her mother always said? The Devil was both beautiful and tempting?

But, she had won and they both knew it, no matter what he did to her she had won. It was day eight, not seven. Her heart raced, a long ignored ache returning to her lower stomach. Waiting, urging. She held her breath. He was barely a pace away. She let the blackness overtake her as her eyes drifted shut, her body braced for anything. There was the faintest brush of air past her cheek and the footsteps continued without pause. Confused, she opened her eyes and turned to find him rounding the corner without even bothering to look back.

“What the hell?” 

She blinked in the direction he had left. It was faint at first, the footsteps. Goosebumps raised on her flesh as they moved closer. She kept her eyes pinned to the stone wall, waiting. Waiting. Until...

“Oh Miss Granger!” Filius appeared around the corner a terribly large stack of books floating behind his small frame. “What luck! It seems I have overindulged at the library. Could you be of assistance?”

Hermione breathed out, her pulse returning to acceptable levels as she strode toward the Charms professor.

“Sure thing.”

He chattered along about his newest finds. Hermione couldn’t care less at the moment, her eyes shooting back over her shoulder only to find nothing at all.


	9. Chapter 9

By the time Friday rolled around she was going crazy. She didn’t understand him. Her brain was clouded, bored as she slipped away from her peers again. But every time she considered pleading to McGonagall for a weekend pass to visit George she would see Malfoy smirking at her in the Great Hall, taunting her. The game was afoot and she'll be damned if she loses. 

She had seen him no less than five times while alone, she could dismiss one or two as inconvenient or not secluded enough. But why in the hell did he just accept his point docking for being out after hours last night in a totally empty corridor just off the prefect’s bathroom. It was driving her mad.

“Hermione?” 

She pulled out of her thoughts as Ginny shook her shoulder. Hermione turned back to the redhead on the grass beside her watching the boys skip rocks in the lake. It was really too cold to be out even with warming charms. The Scottish winter came early and fast and while the first snow hadn’t fallen yet, the clouds threatened it daily.

“What?” she questioned.

She hated how much of a common occurrence that statement was becoming these days. Maybe she should just give up and ask McGonagall-

“I asked if you needed to hex something?” Ginny frowned. “We’re losing you again.”

“No I’m fine.” Hermione brushed her off. “Just a bit… tired.”

“Tired? Sure...” 

Ginny turned back to watch the boys for a moment, Hermione’s mind wondering if there was any other natural thing with Ginny’s hair color. Brick was too dull but Holly berry too bright. Maybe if-

“Come on.” Ginny yanked Hermione up to her feet then stalked a few feet away and turning to her wand drawn. “We’re dueling.” 

She gestured to Hermione’s pocket just as the boys noticed.

“Come on Hermione. Pull your wand out.”

Hermione was still scrabbling for her vinewood when Ron came to a panting halt in the middle of them. 

“What’s going on? Everything alright?”

“Didn’t mum ever tell you to stay out of two dueling witch’s way?” Ginny growled at her brother just as Hermione drew her wand, praying for her mind to clear. “Move it Ron.”

“Is that such a good id-” Harry started. All three of them jumped when Ginny snapped at him.

“No. I am pretty sure it is a piss poor idea but there is not much else to be done and unlike you two I would like to keep my friend with me for as long as possible.” Ginny knocked Ron back with a jinx refocusing her wand on Hermione. “Ready?”

Hermione nodded, cajoling her feet into a dueling position. One slightly more forward than the other. No, wait they should be turned for better balance. Or… maybe her heels together? No that’s ballet. Maybe she should-

The langlock jinx tied her tongue to the roof of her mouth and sent her backwards, ending the duel before it could even begin as Hermione tried to work out the counter curse around it. Ron walked over and with a swipe of his wand freed her, helping her up from where she had fallen.

“Up we go. Sorry about Gin.” 

He looked back to where Ginny was screaming at Harry as he tried to calm her down. Her face red and eyes shimmering. Hermione knew that it was her fault. She should have at least thrown up a shield. 

“Don’t worry about her. She’s just… It’s hard for her to see you this way,” Ron murmured, brushing off her robes like a child. The worst part was that she let him and by the time she thought to tell him to stop he had already finished.

“Me and Harry… Well we were there when it happened. We saw it and are just glad you’re alive. For her, her best friend disappeared one day and didn’t come back. It’s… it’s just hard. ”

“Sorry,” Hermione murmured. She felt the guilt seep through the cloud. Ron nodded then smiled softly at her. “You’ve gotten better at that.”

“At what?” he questioned, watching Harry begin to raise his voice too. His and Ginny's spats were rare but when they got going you could hear it all over the castle. 

“People. Emotions.”

“I guess.” Ron flushed, rubbing the back of his head. He waited a moment before clearing his throat. “Do you need me to call George?”

Hermione watched as Ginny began to cry, Harry wrapping her to his chest as she sobbed. Her fault. No one else’s. It was always her fault.

“No. I…” 

Hermione hated that she was this way. She really did. She didn’t want her friends to hurt just because she wasn’t able to function. She turned towards the castle just as the flakes started to fall.

“I’ll take care of it.” 

00000000000000000000000

Draco was sitting in the library trying to understand the complexities of gurdy root when a pure white paper bird floated in the air above him. He braced himself, wand at the ready as it circled in a low, lazy spiral until it landed elegantly in front of him. He looked around, watching for any prying eyes or malicious snickers but none came. He prodded the bird with the tip of his wand, watching the bleached parchment unfold into a scrawled note with messy handwriting. 

_Follow me._

The parchment snapped back into shape, taking off from the desk and looping above him as he gathered his things. There was only one person who would be looking for him that was so skilled at Charms. 

Dracp placed a notice-me-not charm on the paper crane as it drifted away so no one would see him following it and set out at a matching pace. It had started to snow while he was in the library, fat white flakes falling with all the speed of a flobberworm. First years ran through the courtyard trying to catch bits of it on their tongue while the older students tightened their scarves and wished for warmer weather. No one paid any mind to him. Not that they ever did. 

The bird banked left, sending him on a meandering path through the Great Hall and up the Great Tower, past the Head’s dorm. It came to a stop on the eighth floor, just outside of a nondescript door before unfolding and slipping under the crack. He considered turning around, she was supposed to come to him. But then again… he wasn’t in the best shape either. He had been losing sleep, spent half of his meals watching her instead of eating, and was completely unaware of anything going on in Potions right now. If it went poorly he could always leave. 

His mind made up, he opened the door, light flooding into the hallway from the room. Slipping in, he shut the door behind him and turned to face her. She was sitting on a table, her knees pulled up to her chest with her arms wrapped around them. She was framed by an old paned window taking up the majority of the wall as the snow fell from ashy skies above them. Her bird floated in, coming to rest in her hair softly before the magic holding it together slipped away and it fell to the wood. He was so distracted watching the way the dull winter light reflected off her curls that he jumped when she turned to look at him. For a moment they stared at each other and he briefly wondered when she had gotten so beautiful.

“Malfoy.” The glazed look faded from her eyes and her tone became clipped. “Er… hello I suppose.”

“Granger.” He nodded glancing around the room seemingly stuffed with various pieces of mismatched furniture. “Where are we?”

“Storage closest I think.” She unfolded her legs to hang over the edge of the table as she smoothed her skirt. “I used to come here in third year when the boys became too much. There are plenty of places to read.”

“I see.” It was strange, speaking to her like this. He had barbs and wit for her in spades and just as many harsh and filthy things that were a new addition to his thought processes this year. But just speaking to her like a classmate… “I like the window.”

She glanced behind her as if she had forgotten it was there. “Oh. I suppose it’s a nice window.”

He cleared his throat and leaned against the door. “Well Granger. Is there a reason you led me up here?”

He watched her play with her skirt, her fingers tangling in the hem pulling it higher on her thigh than she probably realized, revealing long toned legs. An attractive blush speckled her cheeks as she stared off to the left. Really, she was nothing special… nothing at all.

“You said to come find you,” she murmured.

He couldn’t help the immense rush of pleasure that coursed through him. That odd, little, tightly wound thing inside him uncurling and with it a cruel smile.

“No.” 

He pushed off the door, pleased to note the way her attention snapped to him instantly. 

“I told you to find me in a week. By my count it has been two.”

“I’ve… I had made myself available.” 

“Hmm, but that’s not finding me is it? That’s waiting for me.” 

A wonderful idea that he would indeed need to revisit. He sauntered over, his eyes never leaving her face. She bit her lip lightly, as if she was trying her best not to spit out an insult. 

“You’ve had no problems kidnapping me in broad daylight before" she pouted, even as her ankles uncrossed, her skirt dipping between her thighs temptingly.

“You asked me to stop doing that if I recall.” He stopped just before her knees, resting a hand on one and using the other to tilt her face up to him. 

“What do you want with me, Granger?”

Her darkening eyes were distracting. He focused on goosebumps rising on her skin under his thumb instead. Her breath hitched as he guided her knees apart stepping between them. She was so fucking responsive, it was intoxicating. She sought _him_ out. She knew what he was like and she invited him in anyway.

“You’re trouble,” she mumbled leaning toward him, eyes drifting shut. “You’re hate, and harsh, and pain, and fear.”

“I know.” He let his lips hover over hers, just brushing as he spoke. “So why are you still here?”

“Because I need those. And you are the only one willing to give them to me.”

Her lips were on his in the next moment, pushing against him demurely with delicate little nips and a careful tongue. His body buzzed with satisfaction. The cruel, selfish part of him that ached for control roared, demanding he claim her instantly. Instead he let her kiss him, only responding in the slightest. Once her hips begin to wiggle impatiently he pulled away, loving the disappointment in her face.

“You aren’t fooling anyone.” He traced a hand reverently down her jaw and into her hair, tightening it until she gasped. He pulled the hand on her knee to her thigh, digging into the pale flesh. “We both know you don’t like it that way.”

He pulled her to his lips, overpowering her own movements and wrapping her up in him and only barely letting her hold on. His tongue invaded her mouth, licking at teeth and flicking against her tongue, promising only terrible things for the future until he was all she could taste. Her hands scrambled for purchase, knotting in his shirt and hair as he pulled their bodies together. She was already so pliant and willing that she practically melted against him. She shuddered when she pulled away to moan, her core grinding into him through their clothes.

He smiled before pulling her down by the hair and over to a nearby chair. He didn’t bother being gentle as he threw her on the ground, her knees scraping against the bare stone. Taking a moment to collect himself he paused, pushing his hair back as he watched her way her body quivered.

Choosing a path he settled down into the overstuffed red chair, making himself comfortable. Gabbing her wrist he pulled her onto her knees in front of him, her face turned down and hidden behind that wild mess of hair. Oh, this would make the most beautiful picture, one he would no doubt remember for the rest of his life.

“Granger look at me.” 

She obeyed, flicking her eyes up to his face and running them down his body until they stalled at his swollen cock. She let out a small gasp, her eye widening as she shifted. The reaction caused an obvious twitch, one that had a small pink tongue darting across her lips.

“If you want it then beg for it.” 

“I…” 

He raised one incredulous eyebrow as he watched her war with herself. Her cheeks flush to a brilliant red as she came to a decision.

“Please.”

She reached out her hand tentatively. He slapped it away waiting for more. 

“Please let me…”

“I know you can do better than that Granger.” 

He was resisting the urge to just yank her directly on to his lap and fuck her until she screamed.

“Please fuck my mouth.” Dangerously close, but not what he was going- 

“Please Malfoy.” 

His name enticed a hiss as he unbuckled his belt. He could get drunk off of the sinful way it fell from her lips. His belt snaked out of the loops and he noted her shiver in response. A flick of his wrist and the pants were undone. She shuffled closer, hovering until he could feel her breath on him through his shorts.

“Wand is right there Granger.”

His eyes locked onto hers, refusing to take more than offered. He groaned as she reached forward and maneuvered him out, her fingers gripped around the base as he sprung free.

“Won’t need it.” 

She look almost holy as she licked the tip of him. A shot of pleasure rode through his system followed by anger when she smiled up at him condescendingly.

“Well in that case.” 

He tangled his hands in her hair and thrust himself into her mouth, groaning as he sank into her. He only savored the pleasure of her throat for a moment before pulling back to give her the chance to breathe or bail. She retreated just far enough to gasp before dipping back down, taking almost all of him again. He held her there this time, arching his back and pulling her hair to keep from thrusting into her. She moaned around him, the vibration setting off fireworks behind his eyes.

He pulled her all the way off of him, staring at her face until her eyes fluttered open. Her breathing was ragged and her eyes dark. He had meant to ask her if she was okay when she licked her lips, the thin flesh folding into a contented smile.

“Fucking hell,” he growled. 

He pulled her back onto him, setting a brutal pace. She gagged around him as he pulled her up and down watching her curls bounce as her mouth rode his cock. Every once in a while she would look up at him and he would thrust to meet her, dragging the whole of him down the tight walls of her throat as she moaned. He had the idle thought that she would probably be unable to speak for the rest of the day but found he quite liked that idea. All too soon he felt his muscles tighten, his hand spasming in her hair as she sucked and moaned. One last snap of his hips had him pulling her head back, riding through his orgasm in her hand as she pumped him, his cum spurting in thick ribbons across her face.

When his muscles finally released her she fell to the floor, her breathing almost as ragged as his as they stared at each other. One of her eyes was shut as some of him dripped from her hair and onto her parted lips. Her tongue darted out to taste it, moaning as she leaned back.

Fucking. Shitting. Melrin. Fuck. Hermione. Damned. Granger. 

He snatched at her wrist pulling her forcefully up to his lap, her back to him. Twisting his ankles around hers, he wrenched her legs apart over him and locked them into place. A shaking wand rose into his vision and for a moment he panicked. That odd creature inside him viciously angry at the idea of her rejecting him. It was only as he heard the failed cleaning spell he realized what she was doing. Snatching at her wrist he yanked it behind her, binding it to the other with a quick sticking spell which coincidentally forced her beautiful breasts forward. 

“I think not.” He breathed watching her squirm against the bindings. “I quite like you with my cum all over your face marking you as mine. I think you quite like it too.”

He grinned as he placed his hand on her upper thigh bunching up her skirt and she bucked her hips forward seeking him out. With the other he roughly pushed under her shirt, snaking his hand up to pluck and tease her through her bra. 

She groaned deeply, grinding into him, already half hard again. She was so _very_ tempting but he had a lesson to teach her and giving in would not help that. Instead he trailed his finger up her inner thighs thinking about how wet she had gotten while he fucked her throat. Merlin’s magic, that should be a crime against nature. 

He pressed his forehead against her hair for just a moment, trying to calm himself enough to breathe. The mild scent of cinnamon and warmth wrapped around him comfortingly and it made his conscious twinge awkwardly. She writhed under him causing him to refocus on his task at hand.

“Now, there is another matter I’d like to discuss.” 

“Later- Malfoy,” she breathed.

“No. Now.”

He kissed up her neck, scowling where he could picture the now-gone bruise that wasn’t his. He had to stay focused. He trailed his finger over her knickers, ignoring the way she ground into him. With deft fingers he slipped underneath, circling around her clit as she went ridged for a moment before melting against him. He explored her slowly, withholding just enough pleasure to keep her on the edge.

“You see.” He prodded her entrance and pinched her nipple at the same time smirking as she cried out. “When I give an instruction.” Abandoning the action to her sobs, he returned to her clit, flicking once and pausing when her body went ridged. “I expect.” He waited until she relaxed back into him before swiping over it again, her moan catching in her throat. “You.” Another flick. “To.” Her body was shaking. “Listen” She was so close to the edge that the slightest movement would push her over. He leaned into her ear.

“I expect an apology.” The effect was instant, she whirled on him so quickly she would have fallen off if not for his hand holding her hips in place.

“An apology?!?” A purr escaped him when her face contorted into a fit of rage. “You think you deserve an apology for attacking me on the train?”

“No.” He let his hand circle on her thigh, his nail dragging along the sensitive skin and lowering her hackles as he did so. “I expect an apology because you didn’t listen.”

“How da-” She was cut off by a groan when he traced over her knickers, putting the slightest pressure on her entrance. “Fuck your apologies. I won’t do it.”

He smiled, plan falling perfectly into place. 

“Well that's unfortunate.” He removed his hand from waist, withdrawing his wand as he pulled her body tightly to his. He flicked her clit one more time watching her face screw up, just moments away from release with his wand hovering over her sex.

“ _Sinesuea_.” Her body froze, caught between two places and unsure of where to fall. Like a marionette with her strings cut, she collapsed against him, squirming against his slack hand promising sweet things if he would just move.

“I didn’t- but… Just fuck me. Please Malfoy,” she purred, trying to spurn him on. 

“Hm, you should beg more often.” 

He cancelled the spell on her wrist letting them come up to tangle in his hair as her pretty cum covered lips whispered to him. 

“Don’t stop. I was so close.”

“I know.” 

He smiled, watching the heat fade from her eyes, replaced with suspicion. Her gaze flicked down to where his fingers still trailed through her slick sex, finally dipping the fingers she had so badly wanted into her deeply. She tensed as she watched, waiting for the wave of pleasure that never came. He removed his hand, pulling her to stand with him, albeit on shaky legs.

“I can’t...W-what did you do?” she questioned in a sore voice. 

Her bearings returned to her as she brushed her hand up her skirt, finding she couldn’t feel that either. The image was almost enough to make him consider lifting the spell and throwing her over the table. But then she wouldn’t learn anything would she? And she did _so_ love to learn.

“You didn’t listen and made me wait a week. Then you didn’t even bother to apologize.” As much as he loved the way his cum had dried on her he whispered a quick cleaning spell, the magic tipping her off to what was about to happen. “So I think I will make you wait.”

“Malfoy don't-” 

He sauntered to the door, highly pleased with himself as she leaned against the table with a groan, the need still tearing at her with no physical outlet.

“I should make you wait just as long but I don’t think you’ll make it.” 

He frowned over his shoulder at the beads of blood on her knees. She would probably be too wrapped up in herself to heal them correctly and they would scar, ruining that perfect expanse of skin. He threw an _episky_ over his shoulder, watching the small abrasions disappear as she glared after him.

“How- Long?” she panted. If looks could kill he would have happily traded her out to deal with the dark lord instead.

“I’ll come find you.” 

He smiled as he quickly stepped out of the doorway just as a nasty looking jinx exploded on the wall behind him. He heard her quite moans all the way to the stairs.

000000000000000000000000000000000

Ginny was stirring their cauldron two days later, the cloudy green liquid slopping around making horrible squelching sounds. It would have been disgusting if she were paying attention but she wasn’t. Two days have passed since that- that _fucking bastard-_ had put the charm on her and no matter what she tried she couldn’t remove it. 

It would have been easy enough to ignore the dull ache in her, to go without even her own hand, for just a few days. That was if he hadn’t kept touching her! A glancing nail dragged against her wrist while reaching for a book in the library, a subtle tug on her braid when he bumped into her in the hall. The worst was yesterday when he pulled her into a broom closet only to run a hand down her cheek and ask her a question about gurdy root before spiriting away and leaving her heart racing. She swore he wouldn’t be satisfied until she attacked him in the Great Hall. 

“Okay that’s twenty-six, now we switch directions?” Ginny asked.

“No, crosswise starting at the top and ending to the right,” Hermione murmured without looking. 

She was instead watching the Slytherin side of the room just as Malfoy adjusted his stirring. His right sleeve folded up to his forearm, quietly counting with barely moving lips. Each move was graceful, the stirring stick never touching the cauldron edge even as he changed direction in one fluid motion. The fire flared underneath him, casting his features in a soft flickering light. His shoulders carried less tension lately and when she would glare at him in the Great Hall he was more often trading witty barbs with his housemates rather than staring at his food.

His eyes glanced over to hers for a moment and she shot her head down to the open book. Her cheeks flushed at being caught admiring him. _Fucking Bastard._

“Hermione are you okay? You look… ill,” Ginny asked. She switched hands to place her palm on Hermione’s forehead. 

“Yeah, fine Gin. Just too close to the fire,” she muttered, watching Malfoy release a puff of air that she could assume was the closest he got to laughing in public. She had half a mind to tip that potion out on top of him.

“Well alright. But if you start feeling even a bit off head to Madame Pomfrey,” Ginny pushed as she turned back to the cauldron.

“Apparently there is a flu going around,” Harry added from behind them, where he was pointedly staring at Ginny’s behind while he stirred. “And you had that sore throat earlier this week.”

“It’s fine. She gave me a potion for that.” Hermione made a point not to look off to her left. 

It wasn’t truly a lie, she had gone to the hospital wing intending to just dance her way around any questions that the matron may ask. Luckily she ran into Neville dropping off some medicinal plants the fourth years were growing and he parted with a sprig of sandflower for her to make tea with.

“Good to hear,” Ron added. To Ron’s credit he was pointedly ignoring Harry’s actions and met Hermione’s gaze like it was a life line. “I’d hate to have you all cheerful and what not, only to get sick and be miserable.”

“Idiot.” Ginny turned back to glare at them, making both boys flinch. “How about you use your brain before speaking?”

“Well according to you I don’t have one,” Ron grumbled much to Hermione’s amusement. 

She was about to add a thought onto that when she felt a breeze swirl along her calf. She spun around looking for the source, there were no drafts in the dungeon. The coil of air climbed higher, ghosting up her thigh and under her skirt hem. She inhaled sharply, as it brushed softly on her inner thigh, just short of enough pressure to really be there. The heat was back, begging to be released, the ache slamming against her skin in time with her heart, making her shift in her seat.

“‘Mione?” Ron’s voice tickled at her consciousness. 

Suddenly the wind was gone and she groaned softly, letting her head fall to the desk with a thud, her hair hiding the short pants of breath. She glanced up to where Malfoy was pocketing his wand and scowling at his potion. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. “Just frustrated.”

Malfoy’s lips quirked up into a smirk, back straightening as he rolled his shoulders. _Fucking bastard._

“But…” Ginny glanced at the board. “Didn't you master polyjuice in your second year?”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am gone this Friday for the holidays. Take your chapter early and rejoice.
> 
> It has smut!

The first snowfall last weekend had left a dusting of white on the ground that quickly melted into muddy slush in just a few hours. The second snow however, returned with a fury later that week. It begun in the night and poured from the sky until midafternoon, blanketing the castle in a sound crushing layer. And thus, when the Defense Against the Dark Arts NEWT class let out, almost all of Dumbledore’s army was released into a white courtyard.

Hermione saw the moment the first snowball flew, Dean Thomas sinking Hannah Abbot in the back. The effect on the group was instant, fighting stances were engaged and backs turned to partners as shields went up. Silence fell over the courtyard for a moment, people waiting for the next attack.

“Er…Sorry.” Dean awkwardly rubbed the back of his head. Slowly wands lowered and people relaxed as they pieced together the scene.

Neville was the one who broke the silence, laughing as he charmed a snowball to nail Harry in the head. Harry spun around, eyes blazing and face broken into a wide smile as he knocked a snowdrift off the roof to land on the boy. Suddenly there was white everywhere as spells flew through the air like Christmas lights. 

The Patil twins teamed up, pummeling Ron and his sister with an endless barrage as Ginny attempted to shield. Ron fired back with heavy handed but devastating attacks. Hermione only barely saw a flash of black hair before a wave of snow crashed over them. 

Hermione had been hit three times, landing returns shots on Seamus and Dean as well on that was packed a bit too tightly on McLaggen’s gut, before she took cover just inside the covered corridor. Chunks of snow hit the wall as others joined her, establishing a truce while they sniped their classmates. A wild laugh was torn from her throat as Ginny rolled in next to her, chunks of pink snow clinging to her robes.

“I forgot how aggressive Lavender has gotten,” she muttered before diving back out, spells flying from her wand like a sparkler. 

Hermione turned back, locating Lavender— who had somehow climbed on the roof— with a pile of charmed pink snow next to her firing out bubblegum colored missiles indiscriminately, her scarred face pulled into a wild smile. Everyone was smiling actually, even those clearly losing their fights were piled under snow, laughing as they struggled beneath it. It was wonderful. Normal. Healing. 

Hermione was just about to dive out and rejoin them when something grabbed the hood of her robe and pulled her back. Squeaking, as she was pulled behind a suit of armor in the shape of a hippogriff. She threw the silencing charm at her assailant, a stunning spell on her lips before he crashed into them, hungry and demanding. Her toes curled as he slipped an arm around her waist pulling her tight to his body. She should have known better really. There weren’t many other people who made a habit of surprising her.

She jumped as she heard Lavender swear, followed by a featherfall charm. Suddenly, she was aware of just how poorly hidden they were with a literal army on just the other side of some thin sheets of metal.

Malfoy pulled back, eyes dark and inviting, and opened his mouth to speak. Hermione smirked when no words came out, loving the way his eyes narrowed. He gestured to his throat and she couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her as she cast the counter.

“You lot are chaos incarnate.” He returned to her neck to lave at the spot below her ear before muttering something under his breath. She felt the cooling wave of his magic roll over her.

For the first time in days she was aware of the way her knickers rubbed against her clit, providing delicious friction and pressure. She braced against his shoulders to keep from falling, the return of sensation almost enough to send her over the edge on its own. She sealed her mouth shut, eyes locked on the small space between the talons in front of her. If anyone looked down they would see the way their legs were tangled together...

“Malfoy.” She shuddered when he purred against her ear. “We can’t.” 

She silenced a moan when he pushed back her hair and bit at the juncture between her neck and shoulder, her body singing as the long ignored ache roared inside of her. His hands clamped down around her wrist punishingly. 

“They’ll hear,” she whimpered.

“Then you better be quiet then.” 

He turned her around and pressed her back against him, the hard muscles of his chest, warm against her shoulders. His hand trailed down her side, tickling at her ribs as he flicked her robe to hang open. His teeth attacked her neck violently, leaving a searing trail of red possessiveness. He growled as his fingers traced just under the waistband of her pants. 

“Where is your skirt Granger?” A quick nip to the spot just behind her ear distracted her from the sound of a projectile bouncing off of the metal. She bit her tongue as his fingers grazed along the edge of her knickers, her body urging him on.

“It’s cold.” Her voice was small and breathy, it barely sounded like her at all. 

She leaned back to capture his mouth as he slid a finger below her waistband, swiping through her soaked folds. He swallowed her moans as he worked, a smile pressing against her lips until he pulled back to speak.

“Wear stockings,” he quipped lowly, pinching at her clit and sending her knees shaking. 

She considered throwing a silencing spell on herself as he pinched and pulled, her blood rushing through her body in a wave of wildfire. Her muscles quivered desperately looking for something to clamp down on. She barely noticed the sounds around them dying down until he paused, a high pitched whine pulled from her throat. He clamped his free hand around her mouth, pulling her head back against him.

“Did you hear that?” Neville’s voice drifted around the statue, familiar footsteps hitting the pavement as the sounds of laughter and conversation began to fade away. 

She stiffened as her friends headed towards them. With the way he held her, her robe open and Malfoy's hand shoved down her pants there would be absolutely no mistaking what they were doing. Hermione felt his mouth pull into a cruel smile as he began to press insistent strokes against her entrance. She moaned softly into his hand before her brain caught up. Her struggle did nothing to stop him, his fingers probing softly as his thumb tapped against her clit.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Ginny commented, her voice breathless and light. “Has anyone seen Hermione?”

Hermione's body shivered as she fought off the orgasm. Her muscles clenched and she tried to shy away from him but his arm held her firmly in place.

“Saw her hit Cormac with a nasty chunk of ice,” Ron offered. “Great shot, really. Wouldn’t make a bad beater if she wasn’t so afraid of a broom.”

“Yeah she was around here last I checked,” Ginny said.

“Probably headed back to her room to get changed,” Harry added. Her heart pounded violently against Malfoy’s ministrations as her friends closed in on the alcove. “She is probably as soaked as we are.”

“Oh yes you are,” Malfoy whispered into her ear. 

The two fingers pressed slowly against her. She was so close, if he kept going... He grinned as he held her up, her muscles refusing to listen as they all tightened painfully, that ache in her stomach screaming against her. She heard the whisper of a silencing charm just as she saw the first set of shoes walking past. Her body snapped as he drove his fingers in, clenching around him as she silently screamed into his hand. Her vision flickered until she gave up and forced her eyes close, spasming against his digits as she came. His arm looped around her neck holding her in place as his hand pumped her through the pent up frustration from the past few days. 

By the time he lowered them to the frozen stone floor her body was twitching wildly. Her friends had gone and the courtyard fell silent. She had fallen against his chest, his arm wrapped around her holding her up as she desperately tried to get her body to move. Malfoy had turned her at some point to straddle him.

“I can’t help but wonder if you want to be caught, Granger,” he crooned into her ear, removing the spell and smirking as she keened loudly. “You ruined all my plans. Did you know that?”

He pulled at her hair, growling as her chest pushed against him, his rough robe dragging against her shirt. 

“I had every intention of letting you suffer for a few more days. I had some very interesting spells I was planning on trying at dinner,” he said. 

Her hands finally moved to grasp at his shirt, tangling in the fabric with shaking fingers. More, she needed more. There had been too little for too long.

“But then I see you throwing snowballs and laughing like a child. Casting spells that could kill a man as harmless charms, with that mess of hair brushing against this flushed face.” He brushed a thumb against her cheek pulling her up to meet him. His eyes a shock of electricity in the frozen gray alcove. There was an almost kind smile on his face that sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach. “And the only thing I can fucking think about is the way that voice screamed my name while I drove you into the wood of that desk.”

His thumb pressed harshly onto her cheek, pain blooming behind her vision in a sea of poppies and gray. The filthy words just spurred her on. “And how this face looked covered in my cum, begging for more.”

He dropped his lips to hers, brushing his tongue against them, making her eyes roll back in her head, her body snaking around his. When he pulled back he knew she was hopeless in his arms, curled up against him like an adoring pet. She felt the familiar tingle of the contraceptive charm over her stomach.

“I won’t love you Granger. I won’t fuck you sweetly, with light kisses and warm caresses.” He pulled back, his voice low and hard. His fingers picked the top button of her blouse apart, her shirt opening toward him as she bit her lip to keep from begging him for the worst possible things he could think of. 

“It’s not in my nature. But if you still want this,” He forced her hips down, grinding her against the hardened length until she moaned openly. “If you want me as I am.” His eyes stared into her, a mesmerizing ocean of molten iron. “I will worship your body with my teeth and nails, wringing every bit of you out until there is nothing left and you are begging for mercy. I will make you so agonizingly mine that when you leave you will spend the rest of your life missing half of your soul.”

Her body quivered with his promises, trying to pull away even as he held her fast. She knew better than that, better than this. She knew she would live to regret it, offering herself up like a lamb to slaughter. Maybe she had picked up a martyr complex from Harry after all. But as she looked into his eyes, words dripping around him like honey, she also knew who she was. Hermione Granger, whip smart and at the top of her game. She could move mountains, solve the impossible, and change the world if she could just stay here, awake and aware. A bit of pain was a small price to pay, regardless of the tax collector.

“I don’t care,” she responded, pulling their lips together into a cloying sweet kiss, twisting her arms behind his neck. Honest and kind, like he never was... like he hated.

It lasted only a moment, his hands jerking at her hips to grind her into him before he pulled them up, her legs locked around his hips. His mouth bit at her lip hard enough to draw blood in retaliation. She whined as the heavy metallic taste colored the kiss with darkness and lust. Not sweet. Not loving. But that didn’t matter; it wasn't the point.

He stepped out into the corridor with her still wrapped around him, one hand supporting her bottom and the other drawing his wand. Before she could protest the publicness of it she felt an insanely strong compulsion to go check on Harry. She was sure he was injured. She needed to run to Gryffindor tower right the minute to check on him. 

“Harry’s-” 

She screamed when he bit at the skin of her breast, teeth leaving angry red imprints. He threw up a silencing spell over the whole corridor, just as the powerful compulsion charm faded from her mind. A dull pain registered as he slammed them against the wood. 

“You will never-” He hissed, licking at the flesh with the tip of this tongue, sending an aching rush of warmth between her legs as they locked tighter around him. “Let any other name-” He ground his length into her, unbuckling his pants with that beautiful clicking sound. “Cross those slutty little lips-” He paused to kiss her punishingly leaving her breathless and gasping. “While you are with me.” His hand hooked at the back of her trousers and knickers, yanking them down and around her arse. He lined up against her, that fucking awful pressure that she craved so very close. “Clear?”

“Crystal,” she growled

The word morphed into a moan as he drove into her. She hadn’t appreciated how big he was the last time, the position was too limiting. This time, _ god  _ this time she felt every sweet inch as he stretched her to the point of breaking. He fucked her against the door violently, giving her no room to adjust as she threw her head back and cried. Her head banged against the the wood as flashes of white shot across her vision when he slammed into that spot deep within her without pausing enough to let her breathe.

He bit at her other breast, the silk between her skin and his mouth providing no defense. His lips moved up her collar bone, his hands digging into the soft flesh of her bottom as he spread her apart to take all of him. It was brutal, degrading and unapologetically feral. Thinking briefly of his permanent bored look and completely controlled manner, she couldn’t help but think that in spite of the circumstances, she was only one who had ever really seen Draco Malfoy.

As if reading her thoughts and enraged by them he picked up the pace, erratically spearing into her until her mind turned to jello. She felt that slow, creeping build up, her body fluttering useless around him as her muscles contracted. Her arms tightened around his neck pulling her flush against him, as her body burst and soared far away. She barely even felt it when his teeth broke the skin on her neck and he finished inside of her, holding them up only by the crushing pressure of his body against hers.

The first thing she became aware of was the rough wood digging into her back, his hands still twitching against her flesh as he panted against her skin. His hair was mussed from where her fingers had tangled in it. Late afternoon sun slowly seeped through the courtyard, stretching through the archways to fall on his back, tickling against fingertips. Her shoulder ached, a slow bead of blood dripping down to pool at her collarbone where his canine had nicked the skin too harshly. She gasped as he pulled away, his tongue prodding just above it softly as he whispered a healing spell. 

“There. We’re even,” he murmured, almost too softly for her to hear. She glanced at the spot high on his cheekbone where her slicing hex still hadn’t healed right. They weren’t even. She hadn’t even bothered to heal him.

The bleeding on her shoulder had stopped but the star shaped mark was still red and angry as he pulled away from her, lowering her body until her feet touched the ground. 

Hermione sagged against the doorway, her burning muscles slid to the ground slowly, dragging her clothing partially back on in the process. He stepped back staring at her for a moment before shaking his head. That bored expression returned. 

“Anything else?” He rolled his wand in his fingertips. The movement was entrancing. She felt a pang of guilt as she realized it  _ was _ a new wand.

“No.”

“Fine.” He nodded curtly turning to leave when she had enough awareness to ask,

“When… when will I see you again?” 

He slowed, a contented smile spreading across his lips and wearing away the years of the war. For once he actually just looked like a satisfied teenager, love drunk on a girl. It was a dangerous image.

“I’ll let you know,” he hummed, rolling his shoulders before they slouched, empty of all tension. “Oh, by the way.”

He bent at the waist, his fingertips curling under her chin as he tilted her face up. The sunlight shadowed him, glinting off his hair while framing his face. “Leave the bruises.”

She blinked. Not quite understanding until he traced the angry red welts on her neck. She cringed away forcing herself to stand.

“Absolutely not.” Suddenly feeling more herself, she adjusted her uniform and robes trying to smooth out the wrinkles as best as she could. “The boys would go on a warpath, demanding answers I can’t give them.”

“Too bad. I like seeing my marks on you.”  Before she could react he molded his body against her. She moaned as his fingers found her wrist and his mouth sucked at already darkening skin.

“I suppose you may glamour them,” he said regretfully. “But you will not vanish them. I enjoy watching you flinch whenever you turn your head.”

She considered vanishing them just on the principle of it, but the way his voice purred around her made her want to do anything and everything for him. Figuring she would have left them anyway she swallowed, nodding her head.

“Good girl,” he whispered in her ear, satisfying something unknown in her chest. He left just as quickly, the silencing charm he had put on the hallway ended with an audible crack. She was just getting her breathing under control as she heard the first footsteps of students heading down to dinner.

  
  


00000000

To her chagrin and pride she was getting better at glamours. It took a fair bit of effort to push a spell meant to cover up pimples to the point where it could cover the deep eggplant bruises that danced along her swollen skin. She was constantly reapplying them for fear they would slip off without her noticing. On the plus side, she was having great fun driving Malfoy insane.

She first noticed it after she stumbled down to dinner, trying to cover her limp with a confident stride. Her usual spot between Ron and Harry had been filled by a chattering Lavender Brown who seemed to be sniffing at Ron with a keen interest while he ate. She stood as Hermione arrived but Hermione waved her off. The idea of trying to squeeze between both boys without knocking against something sore seemed downright impossible.

“Here, Hermione,” Neville offered, making room between him and Ginny. 

She settled onto her seat carefully hoping that the soreness on her arse was temporary and would be gone by class the next day. Otherwise she would need to find an excuse to stand for Athrimancy. Without warning, Neville threw his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close to him as if to conspire.

“Hermione here was-” She bit her tongue and stiffened, he hovered his arm lightly, glancing at her shoulders as if he wasn’t exactly sure what he had done. “Sorry about that Hermione. I forgot I saw Lavender pelt you with that big one earlier. You doing alright?”

Hermione didn’t recall getting hit by the blonde but judging from Lavender’s resulting blush she had at least tried. Hermione instantly reassured her as Ron broke into a play by play of the battle for anyone who missed it. 

Hermione looked over to the Slytherin table where Malfoy was rolling his eyes at something Pansy Parkinson had said. For a moment she thought he had missed it.

But the second his eyes landed on hers they flashed dangerously and her muscles pulsed anxiously under the table. It only lasted a moment before he turned back to his housemates, leaving her excited and the tiniest bit fearful. 

She shook off the feeling and focused on her friends, leaning slightly into the familiar wizard as he dropped his hand to cup around her bicep instead. Malfoy could go to hell, he didn’t own her. Or at least it was easy for her to tell herself that when he was safely thirty feet away.


	11. Chapter 11

The next day had her sucking back a pain potion the moment she woke up, thanking any god she could think of that, once she got through Arithmancy this afternoon, she was free for the weekend and could curl up and bask in the return of her mind. And by that, she meant to head to the library and start working on the genealogy she had promised Harry months ago. Now that the world was finally not ending she thought it owed him some information on the family he had lost.

She had taken a long shower, staring at the patchwork of indigo that covered her neck pausing on the small star of healed skin above her collar bone. Her chest was in no better shape as she ran her fingers lightly across the bruises. She was irrationally pleased to find the damage, her mind turning over the fact. 

There was a point he was making, but she wasn’t sure what it was. She got dressed for the day, chiding her ridiculousness as she selected a skirt with long stockings to cover her legs. It’s not like he would notice or that she should care.

But.. she _was_ sinking back into herself because of this. It was the clearest she had felt since that first slip up in September and apparently the arrangement would be continuing for the undetermined future. 

Finally accepting she had no other choice but to address the issue head on she sighed settling onto the overstuffed royal blue couch in the Head's common room. It clashed horribly with the rich red curtains but every time she went to the effort to charm it to something less garish it reverted after just a few moments. Apparently the castle had ideas about how it wanted the shared space decorated and had just selected a house color from each of them. Pity it wasn’t literally any other combination. 

Michael was already up and blew out of the door in a swirl of paper and books, muttering something about Transfiguration as she settled down to drink her tea.

She watched the milk swirl until the wisp of white completely melded into the color of parchment. As she sipped she scowled at the bookshelves lining the walls, hers and Michael's collections decorating the room for ease of access. He had set himself about rearranging her books again in some order only he could understand and she hadn’t noticed. It seemed as good a time as any to re-sort them before he got back.

She was halfway through the F’s before she noticed what she was doing. Sighing she slid the books back returning to her tea and no longer looking for excuses not to think about it.

Why did it have to be  _ Malfoy _ ? Considering the wealth of randy teenage boys around the castle she should have any number of volunteers. She would like to think she wasn’t a total troll. Sure she was on the thinner side but she had the large almond shaped eyes her father had always adored. Granted, her hair was a wreck but it was also long and George had said it was soft and smelled nice (when it wasn’t trying to eat his hand). 

Instead her brain latched onto the most dangerous and least acceptable option in the school. She  _ would _ have been better off with Snape, may the overgrown bat rest in peace. At least he was on their side. She couldn’t even slip away to  _ talk _ to Malfoy about this with raising questions. She had no information of what their… arrangement entailed or for how long it would continue.

Malfoy was just a bad idea. He was unpredictable, hateful, cruel and a multitude of other things. But when she happened upon him in the Room of Requirement he had just looked so… fake. Perfectly in control and put together where she was falling apart. And the moment that smug smirk slipping onto his face she wanted nothing more than to wipe it off. 

She hadn’t intended for it to go this far, really. She had expected him to push away, to scream at her and stomp from the room like a petulant child. She had not expected him to kiss back like he hated her. Of course he did hate her, but kissing people you hate was not a very usual circumstance to find oneself in.

Regardless, this is where she was, her subconscious somehow identifying the reflective image of herself in him. It was obvious why she kept going back. She need this. That first night with George had made it painfully clearly how much she needed to give up her control every now and again. How she needed reminders of that loss of control to get her through the day. It was obvious why she did it... but why did Malfoy? He seemed perfectly content to be bored with the world. If it were just sex, surely he could find someone else. Pansy still simpered over him at meal times, she would probably be happy to fall into his bed.

Malfoy clearly had no real motive to involve himself with her… Unless he needed someone to surrender to him as much as she needed someone to take the power from her. Like equally cracked pieces in a matching set. It was just so predictable it was disgusting. 

As for what it all meant in the long run, she wasn’t sure. They hadn’t discussed it, discussed anything really. They drifted in a sea of uncertainty, floating around each other cautiously until one or the other snapped, pulling them together then pushing them away to continue the dance. It was exhausting. But nothing to be done about it she supposed. As long as he kept appearing to drag her off and take her violently enough to snap her back to reality that would get her to graduation. She could reassess her terrible life choices then.

She sighed glaring at the grandfather clock as if she could will it to move faster. Barely a half hour had passed and figuring she had no other information she set off for breakfast, making sure to apply her glamours. 

Normally she would have talked to Ginny about this as the boys usually flushing an impressive shade of red anytime she brought up sex. Which was dreadfully hypocritical of them since… well they were 19 year old boys. You don’t live with two of them that long without learning more information than you ever needed about the male gender. But none of her friends could really serve as a sympathetic ear right now without asking wildly uncomfortable questions. She may be able to talk to George next break but that wouldn't be until Yule unless she made a special trip-

Right before she entered the Great Hall she felt a tug at her robe pulling her off to a rarely used side corridor. She stumbled before slamming into an unfamiliar broad body. Suddenly on guard and cursing Malfoy for making her complacent, she shot off a weak stinging hex, followed by a langlock jinx. As the arm released her robe she spun, facing a rather put out Neville.

“Ow! Mer-hiney!” She couldn’t help but chuckle as he butchered the counter spell, taking pity on his third attempt. His tongue unstuck from the roof of his mouth and he rolled it experimentally before speaking. “What did you do that for?”

“You snuck up on me Neville! I swear this is becoming an epidemic.” She laughed, watching the tall boy scratch his head sheepishly. He had filled out at some point in the last year and a half and she could understand the whispers she heard between the prefects on rounds. She tried to school her face into something serious. “What did you expect? You are lucky I didn’t hit you with anything more serious!”

“I was just trying to find a way to talk to you alone. Merlin!” he rubbed his jaw and paused, a knowing smile slipping on his face. “What’s an epidemic?”

“It’s a muggle word for-”

“No.” He shook his head sliding his hand in his pocket, prompting her to do the same. “You said something was becoming an epidemic. What was it?”

“Oh!” She laughed nervously, brushing at her hair while trying to cover her neck. “Nothing. Just… people startling me!”

“Sure.” Neville nodded, glancing off to the left smiling softly. “How is your throat?”

“M-my.” She flinched, trying to fight back the urge to snap her hand against the bruises. “My throat?”

“Yeah. How did the sandflower tea work out for you last week?”

_ Oh right. Get it together Hermione! _

“Quite well thank you. Cleared it right up. I should have a stockpile for the cold season,” she joked awkwardly.

“No point to,” he hummed, pulling a small wrapped parcel out of his pocket. “Sandflower tea only helps physical strain. It won’t do anything for a cold.”

Hermione laughed awkwardly. She was never any good at lying. 

“Oh… well I guess not then.”

Neville chuckled as if he was entertained by the whole situation. 

“I think you had better make a stockpile anyway.”

“But you said-”

“I know. I still think it would be best.” She couldn’t help but grow nervous as he moved just a few feet away, holding out the package. “Some of this too.”

She gazed at him cautiously, trying to figure out what he wasn’t saying. With careful hands she unwrapped the parchment, revealing a jar full of familiar smelling light blue cream.

“Healing cream?” she questioned softly, fear slipping under her skin. Where had she slipped up? Even when she had missed her glamours they were never more than a smudge. If anything people would just lightly tease her about her totally normal love bites.

“A variation.” She glanced up to be met with a measure of understanding. That’s right, Neville had always been very accepting. Why would he care about her sneaking off with a boy.

“I… I can’t use this,” she sighed holding it out to him. While she didn’t really want to give Malfoy what he wanted she also loved the way her muscles ached and she had promised. Neville shook his head.

“It’s a problem batch actually. Somewhat of an oddball really.” He pushed it back towards her and stepped away. “It only heals the surface of the skin, removing any marks but not affecting the injury below.”

Hermione froze regarding him carefully. Her mind looking for the signs. The way he suggested the sandflower. How he had readjusted his arm on her shoulder that one day. Her brain pulled another memory from thin air.

“ _ Did you hear something?”  _

She gasped, pulling her hands to her mouth. He knew. And he hadn’t just figured it out by chance. He knew from first hand experience. For a moment a small bead of hope bloomed in her chest... a way out that wasn’t Malfoy. Someone else who was not only acceptable but ideal. It would be perfect! She pointedly ignored the way silver flashed in her mind.

“Y-you know then?” she questioned softly. 

Suddenly the need for privacy made sense. Neville smiled and loosened his tie, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt. Panic set in. 

_ Oh god, did he expect her now?  _ She had asked for someone else but… not like this. She hadn’t had time to get used to the idea! How would she-

Her face screwed up in confusion as he turned shrugging his uniform off the edges of his shoulders and letting it gather at the junction of his forearms. Hermione gasped as long silver scratches crossed along his back in a patchwork of fading silver and newly irritated skin. He looked over his shoulder watching her reaction as she reached out a hand tentatively before pulling it back.

“Go ahead.” 

She marveled as he hissed, her nail nicking a recent mark, setting it flaring against the tan skin of his spine before disappearing again. She pulled back, suddenly feeling like she was intruding on someone else's private life…. But who’s? 

Neville pulled the fabric back over his shoulders, turning to her as he closed it back up.

“Took awhile to perfect it. I certainly didn’t mind the damage but she did. She said they made her feel like she had to be gentler next time. I couldn't have that, could I?” 

“Who?” Hermione gasped. 

"Can't say anymore than you could," Neville smiled. "Out types tend to like their privacy. Can't have our preferences shouted across the Great Hall."

"She goes here?!?"

Realistically Ginny was the most overt about her sexuality in their year but only when it came to Harry. She supposed Pansy had it in her, but she didn’t think Neville would be able to put up with her whining. She had seen him speaking with Hannah Abbot near the greenhouses the other day... Merlin! She had no clue!

“Lucky, isn’t it. Though I never pegged you as a sub.” He stepped just close enough to flick her hair away with his wand, casting a  _ finite incantatem _ as he did so. He watched the glamour fall in fascination and no small bit of jealousy. “He… or she does good work.”

“She?!?!” Hermione’s pupils blew wide as her hand slapped against her skin drawing a hiss. 

Neville laughed deeply, a deep throaty sound that soothed her instantly. 

“Alright he then. In any event, take some, I have loads. It’s more reliable than glamours that may fall off in the middle of the night. I can only claim so many devil's snare attacks before my dormmates get suspicious.”

“I have never been more pleased with my private room.” Hermione prodded at the jar with her finger. She tentatively smeared a dollop on her skin, a strange cooling sensation drifting over her skin.

“Never?” Neville questioned, his eyebrow raising incredulously. 

It was at that moment Hermione became aware that Malfoy, apparently, wasn’t particularly fond of beds . 

“Sorry if I am prying but I can recognize a glamour a mile away at this point.” He smiled softly. “Thought you may want to try it.”

“How did I do?” She questioned tilting her neck to him. 

“You still look like you’ve been kicked by a hippogriff.” He laughed loudly holding his hand out as her cheeks colored. “I’ll help.”

Hermione flushed and handed him the jar. She nearly jumped out of her skin when he cast a familiar numbing spell, the magic tickling over her skin in an unwanted wave. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, dabbing on the paste with practiced hands. She exhaled softly when she couldn’t really feel anything.

“I should have warned you,” he murmured, as he switched sides. “I don't mind other people touching mine after the fact but some people do.”

She shifted her feet as he worked, the silence killing her.

“So have you set boundaries yet?”

“What?” she questioned, watching the way his eyes lit up as he found a missed spot.

“You know. Talked. Set up limits. Things you both will or won't do?”

“Er...” Hermione trailed off and Neville paused, looking at her with concern.

“Hermione. That’s  _ so  _ dangerous. What if he accidently does something that you don’t like?” 

Privately, Hermione was under the impression there wasn’t much she wouldn’t like and if she didn’t he wouldn’t care. Regardless, Neville continued dabbing.

“Honestly. Considering you’re such a stickler for rules I had imagined you would know the biggest one,” he chided.

“Rules? I was under the impression this was…. Uncommon.” 

This was the strangest conversation she’d had since the school year started. Well if conversations with Malfoy don’t count, which considering the lack of vocabulary on her part she was inclined to allow.

“Well…” He paused, his facing pulling into a frown before continuing. “Apparently it used to be, at least at our age. The war… changed a lot of people. Forcing some to grow up sooner than intended.”  He capped the jar tilting her head back and forth ensuring complete coverage. He nodded, sliding the blown glass container into her hand and stepping back.  “Some of us were exposed to things we shouldn’t have been. It put things into perspective.”

The sentence pulled at Hermione, twisting in her like a salted slug. She audibly growled, taking a large step back. Her voice low and angry.

“I did not _enjoy_ being tortured, Neville.”

His face was serious as he tucked his hands into his pockets, putting most of his weight on his good leg. The one he hadn’t broken last year during the Carrow's reign, eyes haunted.  There were stories about Neville that year; heroic, wonderful stories of saving students and sowing chaos. But there were also whispers, of times where he cut it too close, times where he had gotten caught before disappearing all together. Stories of screaming and pain and blood.

“I don’t suppose you did,” his voice rolled over her dangerously and she had the grace to flush.

Hermione forced her shoulders to relax, letting her anger ebb. She had spent months clinging to anger as a momentary release of her mind. It was hard to let go of sometimes, even if it hurt her friends.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, looking up contritely. “I’m told I am pretty good at putting my foot in my mouth these days.”

“It happens,” he offered diplomatically. 

The tension didn’t really leave his shoulders and sent guilt rolling through her, tying her throat in a knot. Hermione forced down the last of her pride and stepped forward to hug him. 

“Thanks Neville. Whoever she is, she is incredibly lucky to have you,” she muttered to his chest, his arms wrapping around her in a soft embrace. They were the comforting arms of a friend surrounding her in forgiveness without her even having to ask for it.

“Anytime.”

000000000000000000

Draco stalked toward the Great Hall, forced to use occlumency in an attempt to keep his temper in check. To call it a temper was really an understatement. He was fucking murderous actually. 

Fucking pansy arse Longbottom. With his shitty fucking smile and careful fucking dabs. Who in the fuck did he think he was healing her? That was _his_ work to heal or not as he fucking wished, not _Longbottom's_. And she had agreed, that fucking liar.

He barely noticed the people around him as he sat at the Slytherin table, packing his anger and the image of Longbottom holding her tightly into a little box and stuffing it under a floorboard in his mind. Fuck everything about it.

“Draco?” His head swiveled toward Nott with a sneer. The other boy pulled back his hand as if it was on fire. “Sorry mate… just wanted to plan.”

“For what?” he bit out. He slowly let the calming wave of nothingness roll over him as the scene before him compartmentalized itself down to a small speck that he pointedly ignored.

“The party tonight.” Theo winced as Draco stared at him. “Nevermind. You seem to be in one of your moods?”

“My moods?” Draco blandly picked at a roll that appeared on his plate. It was hardly appetizing but not much was when he occluded. It all mostly just… was.

“When you get all fucking boring and shite,” Blaise responded from across the table pointing his butter knife delicately in Draco’s direction. “You’ve been better about it lately but don’t fucking come if you are just going to be a downer.”

“Fuck off Blaise.” Draco elected to skip the roll and settled on a soup instead. He couldn’t tell you what it was, just that it was a bright orange color. “Why would I want to hang around a bunch of students who either pretend I don't exist or worship me for the wrong reasons?”

“Is there a right reason to worship you?” Pansy picked at her salad and scowled. 

Draco coughed as he imagined a bushy head of hair bobbing up and down in his lap and his nails digging into her scalp. He pushed it back under the floorboard, where it belonged.

When he looked up, the table was staring at him.

Pansy sneered. “Are you sick or something? Stay away from me.”

“I heard there’s a flu going around,” Theo commented.

“No one wants to be around you in the first place Pansy.” Blaise rolled his eyes as she huffed. “The answer to your question Draco, is that we go to the parties to imbibe enough alcohol that we forget _what_ people think about us and act accordingly.”

“Is that why you were sneaking out of the Gryffindor common room last night?” Theo sipped lightly on something that smelled of a bit more than your run of the mill pumpkin juice. 

“Of course,” Blaise responded, not even flinching. He smiled down at his plate before looking up devilishly. “That’s where all the kinky ones are.”

Draco was still trying to explain away his coughing fit by the time dinner ended.

00000000000000000

Ginny for one, was loving the shorter days. Harry had not considered the effect of winter on his after sundown rule. After a few weeks of badgering he was able to wear her down until a hard 8:00pm (which apparently needed to be clarified). 

Which was how Hermione ended up absolutely smashed and stumbling around the Gryffindor common room attempting to teach the Patil twins how to Can-Can with Dean's assistance. After two kicked over coffee tables and one broken vase, they were separated by an equally as smashed Ron and Seamus. Ron’s laughter boomed through the common room as he pulled her away while Seamus struggled to hold on to Dean.

“Wait!” Hermione slurred, easily squirming out of Ron’s grip and starting toward the dark skinned wizard. “We muggleborns have got to stick togeth-”

Her statement was muffled as Ron dove for her waist, tackling them onto the rug in a pile of laughter and limbs. An echoing thunk had her reaching her arm out to Dean who was in a similar position with Seamus.

“‘S true!” he confirmed. Their fingers brushed reminding Hermione of the ‘Creation of Man’ albeit with a lot more alcohol… Or maybe not. The Greeks did have a god of hedonism, now that’s a religion! 

“Dunno when another Dark wizard is gonna pop up like a fucking daisy!” Dean said.

She imagined a sweet little spring dandelion opening it’s bud to the sun only to have the half fetal Voldemort baby fall out of it with a sick plop. Coincidentally she also found it uproariously funny. By the time Ron had pulled her to her feet, Dean was leaning on Seamus looking a bit green.

“Think he musta put a curse on any muggleborns talking about him.” Dean swayed his skin blanching dangerously.

“Think you just had one to many, mate,” Seamus slurred, looking like he stopped at the appropriate time. “Hermione need a place to crash? You can have my bed again if you’re willing to share.”

Seamus winked suggestively making Ron burn bright red. He snatched up Hermione by her waist and planted her firmly behind him.

“Not on your fucking life Finnigan!” he roared across the common room, much to the dwindling crowds' amusement. “You aren’t good enough by half for a witch like Hermione.”

“I’ll take a stab,” a voice added from the left.

“Not by a quarter for you McLaggen.” Ron stomped off in that direction. “ An eighth actually!”

“E’s right!” Ginny slurred coming down the stairs with mussed hair and happy eyes. “I leave for two minutes and they’re auctioning you off to the lowest bidder!”

“I was just trying to Can-Can with Dean!” The sounds of wretching sounded behind them. It sounded like her dancing partner was also done for the night.

“Oi Dean! Get cleaned up and come kiss her goodbye!” Ginny shouted, laughing as he flipped her two fingers. She turned back to Hermione, swaying slightly in the doorway. “That’s a shame. He’s not too bad at it.”

“It’s fine. I’m-” Hermione ran her fingers up her neck, shivering at the soreness. “I’m good.” 

She nodded, watching the crowd slowly filter out. Ginny wandered over and leaned against the couch with her. Suddenly the redhead leaned over, stage whispering in her ear.

“It’s starting.”

“What’s-”

“Oi POTTER!” Ron bellowed. The redhead unwrapped his arm from Lavender’s waist as a sliver of robes poked out from under the invisibility cloak, just over the threshold of the girls' dormitory stairwell. 

Harry untucked his head making a mad dash for the boys' dormitory, the floating head making a rather strange sight. He dove up the stairs, Ron hot on his heels as Ginny and Hermione cackled. 

“What were you doing with my sister?!?”

“Do you really want to know?” Harry responded. 

There was a loud bang and then a crash. Everyone remained silent, staring at the stairs. Suddenly they saw Harry zoom by the tower window on his broom, Ron following on his Cleansweep. Hermione dragged out her breaths hoping that they had crash charms on those things. When she and Ginny had finally fallen into a mild string of giggles she followed Ginny up to her bed, making sure to charm on new sheets just in case. She slid in next to the other girl, tangling their hands as they faced each other with bright eyes and smeared makeup.

“I don’t think it’s a bad idea.” Ginny was watching her, her face schooled into a curious expression. “You and Dean I mean.”

“I don’t think they’ll take us in Paris, '' Hermione giggled, remembering the way her shoe went flying into the floo. Maybe it would be recoverable in the morning. “They might in America as a comedy act!”

“I mean for _company_ ,” Ginny corrected. Her voice was sleepy and carried the weight of the night on it. 

“I don’t like Dean,” Hermione corrected. “I like-” She stumbled over the words, swiftly remembering that  _ that  _ was a secret.

“George. I know.” Ginny finished for her. In a credit to her drunkenness, Ginny seemed not to notice her graceless sputtering. “But no reason to wait for him to settle down until then!” Ginny smiled brightly, her red brows wiggling. “And you don’t have to like someone to use them for some stress relief!”

Hermione gave the girl an indignant snort before Pavarti shushed them. 

“I’m glad you’re back ‘Mione.” Ginny yawned, turning over to tuck into her pillow. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too Gin,” she responded quietly, letting her eyes drift slowly shut. Ginny was right about one thing. You don’t have to like someone to use them, in her case it was probably better that she didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I am aware that the stairs to the girls dorm are charmed to turn into a slide should a boy try to get up them. But this is a story and he is HARRY BLOODY POTTER. Let's just pretend the stairs work for him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: We have some bad BDSM going on in the beginning of the second section. It gets sorted out later in the chapter.

Waking up after a Gryffindor party was like waking up in the middle of an Emergency Room after a disaster. A door slammed opened followed by the sound of gagging as Lavender shot out the room at light speed. Shouting for them to help Pavarti. 

Hermione’s head pounded as she rolled out of Ginny’s bed, her legs tangling in the sheets when she tried to draw her wand. She fell back in a graceless heap landing on Lavender’s bed with a loud yelp. Ginny groaned and held a pillow over her head, attempting to will away the disturbance. 

After determining that she would in fact die if the castle came under attack, Hermione hauled herself over to the bathroom, holding back Parvati's hair while she cried. 

Hermione was struck by the normality of it. How hundreds of years of Hogwarts students had probably spent Saturdays in this bathroom in the exact same way. Not running around facing Death Eaters or giant snakes. Just hungover, trying to hide under the covers, and swearing to never drink again. They were finally normal. The thought was almost enough to make Hermione giddy.

By the time Hermione got Pavarti tucked back into bed, Ginny was rousing under her mound of pillows and blankets that hadn’t been there the night below. Hermione smirked, ignoring the stabbing pain in her head in favor of taunting her friend. Just because she had accepted Ginny’s reason to drink didn’t mean she had to free her of the consequences.

“Good Morning!” she sang, stepping back from the resulting hex shot from under the pillows.

“Fuck you.” 

“And here I was going to offer to fetch you a hangover potion.” Hermione pulled up her rouge stocking and smoothed her skirt in an attempt to not look like she had spent the night getting blitzed. 

“Who do I need to hex to get one?” Ginny growled. Pavarti waved a shaking hand in agreement. 

“Dean,” Hermione answered as she skipped to the door. “He apparently learned to make them sixth year and he's a crack hand at it. If you ask nicely I will grab one for you too.”

“Get me that damn potion and I will get mum to pull out Ron’s baby pictures next time we are home.” Ginny’s head appeared for just a moment for ducking back under the covers with a groan.

“Done.” Hermione smiled, climbing up to the boys dorm and shouldering her way in, resulting in two startled shouts and a girlish scream from Dean. She blinked at him, taken aback by his response as he covered his chest with his shirt haphazardly.

“Couldn’t you knock!?! I’m half-dressed.”

“Give me three hangover potions and I won’t tell that cute sixth year about that sound I just heard you make.”

Dean grumbled pulling out the potions. He floated them over to her with a flick of his wand. He rubbed at his hip bone and scrunched up his face. “Were we doing the Can-Can?”

000000

Breakfast was a morose affair with no less than three quarters of the seventh years quietly nursing aching headaches. Hermione could pick out the various attendees from other houses by the way they stared at their plates wanting to eat but not sure if they could keep it down. Oddly enough the Slytherin table also seemed out of sorts in their own way. The usually clipped conversation was muttered and half hearted. Perfectly set uniforms and hair were mussed and unkempt.

While the Gryffindor's were mostly alright, Lavender was still nauseous from the smell and refused to go back up to their room until it aired out. Ron and Harry had apparently returned after a rematch with the Whomping Willow resulting in her having to fix Harry’s glasses and apply a swelling charm to Ron’s shoulder. Neville smiled at her knowingly when Ron asked when she had learned so much healing magic.

She excused herself, promising to join Dean later that afternoon to help him brew more hangover cure for next weekend. 

She was walking down the hall dreaming of a hot shower to rest her muscles when she caught sight of the Prefect’s bathroom on the seventh floor. Since no one ever came up by the head dorms to bathe she knew it would be empty. Smiling to herself she slipped inside, summoning a towel and change of clothes from her room. When she heard the door open she held out her hand expecting them to fly into it. 

She was not prepared for the hand that buried itself in the back of her hair, spinning her around. She hissed in pain, her scalp still sore and in no mood to be dragged around. She scrambled at the hand, trying to get it to release as it forced her head back. When she found herself staring up at Malfoy as he loomed over her, her body didn’t hum in excitement, it stiffened in discomfort. Malfoy yanked tightly and an unpleasant shot of agony blurred her vision with tears.

“Granger. Granger. Granger,” he cooed, shaking his head. “I thought we talked about this.”

“Not now Mal-”

“Yes, now Granger,” he hissed, tightening his grip. 

He smiled when she squeaked; it was fucking unsettling seeing the rage broil behind it. Hermione had learned to appreciate pain in the right circumstances, when her body was healthy and already flooded with heat and pleasure. This was different. This she couldn't trust not to go too far and fear leaked down her spine. That wasn't giving up control, it was being robbed of it. She felt like she had unleashed a rabid dog and had no idea how to put it back in it’s kennel.

Malfoy traced his hand down her neck, scratching against the skin. The already damaged tissue protesting in agony.

“Don’t-”

“I thought that I had made it very clear that I wanted those pretty little marks I made to stay put,” he growled pushing up against her. Her still sore sex cowered away from him even as she realized he wasn’t hard. Something was wrong, very, very wrong.

“Malfoy-” His hand closed around her throat, on instinct alone her nails instantly clawed at his hand. He hardly seemed to notice. Malfoy simply glared at her, tightening his grip while fire flashed behind his eyes. The pressure on either side of her throat dragged a pained cry from her.

“And another fucking thing-”

“S-Stop,” she choked out, quivering under his hand. 

His eyes burned into her, the cold heat of his rage sparking around them. His shoulders held a threatening tension, a hair's breadth away from snapping. Dangerous. Stupid. Awful choice.

“Wand’s right-” The words were barely out of his mouth before her vinewood was at his throat. 

His eyes widened as he stilled immediately, releasing the pressure on her hair and neck. She sobbed in relief as her pulse beat angrily against her skin in hot waves. Hermione's knees shook but she managed to stay standing while she wiped away the barely formed tears. Malfoy had stepped back and was staring at her, silent and significantly paler than usual.

“I-I'm sorry.” The words were small and soft. So unlike him, she was tempted to look around the bathroom for a spectator. “I didn’t-” He coughed, clearing his throat as he straightened. The shame rolling off of him was so thick she could nearly feel it clouding the air with the steam. They stared at each other for a moment before she shook his shoulders.

“I didn't... I’ll leave you alone.”

He pulled himself up to his full height, edging toward the door with that infuriately blank mask in place. But, there was a crack, just the slightly quivering in his jaw. If she let him go now, it would be the end. He would probably avoid her and even if she could get close enough to talk to him he would still probably refuse to offer her the clarity she so desperately needed. Hermione was unwilling to descend back into that foggy place at the edge of madness.

Swearing, she cast a locking spell on the door before he could dart out of it, his body ridged. 

“Get your arse back here Malfoy. We aren’t done.”

“But you-”

“Told you to stop and you did. That’s how this works,” she groaned as she muttered cooling charms around her neck hoping to soothe the irritated skin. “You didn’t have to be such a git about it though.”

“What on earth are you doing?” he questioned, examining his nails. It probably wasn't the best move because it just drew her attention to the way his hand still shook. She was somewhat surprised to see him so bothered over all of this. Malfoy had never given her any indication this... situation was for anyone's benefit other than his own. Well, perhaps that time in the broom closet but that was surely a line of some sort.

“Cooling charms. My skin is not exactly happy right now,” she answered. There was a knock at the door and she charmed it open just enough to let her towel and clothes in. Hermione didn't think he was going to take off but she didn't want to risk it.

“Don’t be dramatic,” he scoffed weakly, staring at the spinning fairy in the stained glass window. “I barely touched you.”

“But you did a number on me all of two days ago and since you told me not to heal it that puts me a bit out of commission for a few days,” she responded dryly.

“But you did.” Malfoy spun back to her, snarling as his anger flared. "I never took you for a liar, Granger."

"Liar?" Hermione asked trying to puzzle out his meaning. "I don't-"

“I saw Longbottom rubbing all over your neck yesterday." He narrowed his eyes, running them up and down her body. "I believe I also said that I didn’t share.”

“I _also_ said I didn’t belong to-” Hermione paused, his words catching at her brain. She narrowed her eyes pinning him with the look that would have Ron falling all over himself to get away from her. “You saw me and Neville? How?”

“You were in the middle of a fucking corridor. It’s a miracle that the entire school isn’t planning your wedding right now,” Malfoy spat. “I’m honestly shocked that pathetic twee has it in him. Even if he's not half as good as me.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Malfoy said nothing but turned to glare at the still filling bath. Suddenly Hermione realized that he made the same assumption she had.

“Oh my god. You possessive bastard!” she screamed as she threw up a silencing spell on the room. “You had _no_ right.”

“I had every goddamned right,” he shouted back. “I am not a fucking toy for you to swap out when you get bored of your other ones!”

“Oh right, like you are capable of ‘feelings’. Neville and I are just friends. He was giving me the stupid cream so I could hide your fucking marks without having to worry about my glamours fading. ” 

“Which you were supposed to leave!” 

“I did leave them you prick!”

Hermione stomped over to him and ripped up his hand. He tried to yank out of her grasp but she simply rolled her eyes and pulled it up to her shoulder, lightly running a finger across the skin and watching the surface fade to purple before removing it. “Which I could have told you before you manhandled me.”

“Well how was I supposed to know,” he growled dangerously, anger still simmering beneath the surface. Even still, when she dropped her hand, his fingers continued to dance softly across her skin. “That looked-”

“How about you _ask_ me? I am perfectly aware that your mouth is capable of forming sentences.” She took a deep breath and resisted the urge to scream in his face. Instead, she crossed her arms and stepped away from his touch. “You crossed a line Malfoy. You don’t get to dictate my relationships.”

Lines. Boundaries. Maybe Neville had a point.

“And you expect me not to get snippy when other men are pawing at you?” Malfoy snarled.

“We aren’t dating,” she snapped just as the bath shut off. “I needed help and he offered it. There are going to be times when I won’t be able to take care of myself afterwards and I need someone to limp to.”

“Go ask the Gingersnap then.”

“Would you like to explain to Ginny how _exactly_ you damaged me so badly? I think she may give you three seconds before she takes away your ability to breathe.” The water dripped from a faucet in the bathroom. The calming scent of lavender and cherries drifting through the warmed air feeling out of place with the tension.

"But-"

"But nothing." Hermione said. "I may let you touch me and I will even give you the compliment that I enjoy what we do." He scoffed. "However, there are lines that you are not allowed to cross and things I won't let you do. Accept that or get the hell out Malfoy."

She punctuated the statement by lifting her locking charm. Still the two just stared at each other to the back drop of dripping water.

"And Don't ever come at me like that again. If you are angry, find another outlet because I won't bear the brunt of it."

There was a long span of silence before he spoke again.

“Fine.” He stared at the ceiling a moment before rolling back his shoulders and exhaling slowly. “But I have lines too. You need to stop me if I'm hurting you and if you need healing you come to me. I don’t want anyone else touching you.”

He scrunched up his face in distaste but Hermione was so floored by the offer she didn’t notice. That was by far one of the least like sentences she ever expected to hear come out of his mouth, preceded only by ‘I love you Ron Weasley’ and ‘Please tell me more about hippogriffs Hagrid.’ She was so surprised that she didn't even disagrees, the tension leaking from the room.

“Why on earth are you even here this early on a weekend?” he questioned, narrowing his eyes as he ran his gaze up and down her body lazily. It sent a shiver up her spine, quickly reminding her of muscles that weren’t ready to be overworked again. “And why are you still wearing the same clothes as yesterday?”

“There was a party in the Gryffindor common room last night,” she replied blandly. “Are you going to try to tell me I can’t spend time with friends, too?”

“That depends,” he growled. “Where did you wake up?”

She took a deep breath, reminding herself that every person had a right to know if someone they were sleeping with was also screwing someone else so they could take precautions. Funny, it had sounded like such a reasonable idea when George had said it but now she felt the distinct urge to start a rumor that she was sleeping with everyone year six and up, just to piss Malfoy off.

“Ginny’s bed," Hermione spat. "Believe it or not, I don't just randomly fall into bed with my housemates on a whim."

"You took to me easily enough," Malfoy responded with a smirk. 

"Lovely Malfoy, truly endearing." Hermione repressed her irritation, untying her hair to ready herself for the water. "But I am still too sore to do anything other than move, thus the bath.” 

She gestured grandly to the room around them. To his credit he had the decency to look ashamed for at least a second before a cocky grin slid onto his face.

“That sore, huh?” 

He wandered over to a nearby bench and started unlacing his shoes. Hermione watched one loafer hit the ground in confusion. Honestly, dress shoes on a Saturday. What a ponce.

“Don’t be too proud. The door did most of the work.” Not that the door had anything to do with the tightness deep in her core. She narrowed her eyes as the other shoe fell. “What are you doing Malfoy?”

“You said you needed a bath,” he summarized picking slowly at each individual buttons of his shirt when a spell could have undone them all at once. It was wholly unnecessary... but it did make a (begrudgingly) more pleasant picture. Particularly with that confident smirk on his face as his long fingers flitted across the hard lines of his chest.

“And you are undressing why?” she managed to say, still sound cross.

As the last few buttons came undone, she realized that she had never actually seen his chest. Actually most of their rendezvous had been fairly well clothed. Suddenly she burned with curiosity, wondering if his skin was as soft as his silk shirts.

“If I can't fuck you I can at least enjoy looking at you for my efforts this morning.” He stood and peeled off the shirt with a practiced ease, the fabric pooling around him like liquid ash. A witty retort died on the tip of her tongue as her eyes met his chest. When Hermione's brain stopped questioning why he was getting undressed and was just happy to watch him do so. He was more toned than she expected, with tightly defined muscles that tensed and relaxed with each movement. His shoulders tapered down lightly to a thin waist with subtle ridges on his stomach, just barely visible under the skin.

“Yous shouldn't be complaining considering you're so... inclined to me."

His words snapped her back to reality.

“I am not inclined towards you." She found that glimmer of a glamour on his forearm, reminding her of exactly why this was all a terrible idea. She should have let him leave. Should absolutely send him away with a hex and a bruised jaw. "You are the best of a bad situ-” 

She stopped speaking when he stood. He stalked over to her, as nonchalant and graceful as he ever was, a dangerous smirk on his lips. She was watching the way he muscles pulled at the skin of a rather nasty scar stretching across his chest as he tucked his hands behind his back. He wasn't even bothered by her words as his eyes followed hers then shot back up to her face with a smirk.

“Was that from _Sectumsempra_ ?” she asked. Now that he was closer she realized how _nasty_ the scar was. Wide and deep, marring the otherwise perfectly smooth skin.

“Not afraid a few scars are your Granger?" His eyes caught hers and she flushed at the heat in then. " That would make you shallow _and_ a hypocrite.”

“No…Not at all,” she murmured, reaching out to lightly brush across the skin regardless of if she was _allowed_ to…. Arsehole. She saw his breathing falter before falling into a slow pattern. “Did you know Snape invented it?" 

“Of course I did.” Malfoy's eyes drifted shut as her hand trailed up his neck. The gesture was oddly trusting and made Hermione's blood hum. “It was his signature spell.”

“Harry had no idea when he cast it.” She tangled her hand in his hair without really knowing why. It was pitifully soft. Why did boys always have such soft hair? His eye twitched and she held back a laugh.

“I still don’t forgive him.”

“Did you also know that that spell took off George Weasley’s ear?” His eyes cracked open a witty retort dying on his lips as he looked down and frowned.

“As much as I want to hear that story you are still dressed and that displeases me.”

“I thought you were stealing my bath,” she teased lightly, trying to step back. An arm looped around her lower back, holding her fast as his fingers plucked at the buttons of her blouse.

“No. You will be taking it with me,” he purred in that fucking tone that sent her nerves sparking. “Get in.” 

God it shouldn’t be that easy. In spite of the little tremors shooting through her as he worked his way down her blouse, she closed her hand around his wrist, urging him to stop. He raised an eyebrow and waited.

“I…. I can’t Malfoy,” she sighed, he cheeks flushing with the desire slowly building up in her body. “Really. I would but I am still too torn up from Thursday… Maybe tomorrow?”

“Get undressed Granger.” He rolled his eyes in annoyance, stepping forward to tilt her chin up with two finger. His eyes sparked with a heat that made her catch her breath. “Before I undress you first.”

“But I-”

“Unless you want me to,” he hummed against her ear, dropping his lips against her neck. "Which I am not particularly opposed to."

The vibrations running along the bruises and sending just the right amount of soft pain coursing through her body. She sighed softly, her legs shaking dangerously.

“And perhaps you aren't either," he said, hooking his finger around the partially undone collar and pulling it down to reveal more skin. "I hope you aren't attached to this shirt.”

Hermione pulled away, caught between indignation and how she really wanted those fingers on her. She turned away to finish removing her shirt and bra, twitching at the sound of him removing his belt.

“Skirt too, Granger. Though I am tempted to instruct you to leave those stockings on.” The velvet in his voice dripped like molasses. This was… different. She didn’t really know how to respond to it. So far their… sessions had been rushed unplanned attacks that didn’t give her time to think past an instinctual level. She wasn’t quite sure how to handle it. All she knew was that her body was humming pleasantly and that she _did_ need a soak.

“Is there any chance you will just leave me alone to bathe?” she sighed, fiddling with her skirt zipper.

“Is there any chance that you actually want me to?” 

The smug sound of his voice was replaced with the sound of fabric hitting the floor. Hermione swallowed deeply and steeled her resolve. She unzipped the skirt stepping out of it and hearing his sharp intake of breath as he watched. She may not have seen his much of his body but he hadn’t really seen hers either. Two could play at this game and she would bedamned if she lost.

Immediately going on the offensive she looked over her shoulder, his eyes blown wide as he stared at her, pushing off a pillar. 

Malfoy was much too comfortable in his nakedness. Where any other man would flush or try to cover themselves, he was unapologetically open. Long toned legs trailed up to the finely sculpted thighs of a seeker. His hip bones jutting out just a bit too much to be perfect, but still painfully attractive. Leading down to the only part of his body she was truly familiar with.

Her eyes settled on the length of his cock, that same smooth paleness as the rest of his skin, with a pleasantly pink tip. She couldn’t help but lick her lips remembering the way the length drove deeper down her throat than she thought possible and the way her jaw had to stretch to accommodate him. 

She may have been ashamed at watching him if his face hadn’t been wiped clean while he watched her as equally as dumbstruck. Hermione accepted the blush of power that thought created.

She settled on a nearby bench, keeping as much of her back to him as possible. Her fingers danced temptingly across her skin as she draped her leg on the bench, trying not to wince at the soreness. With graceful, delicate movements she began to drag her stockings off in that way that Pavarti and Lavender had giggled about all of fifth year. She was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath as she set about the other one. She smiled softly as he stalked over, his eyes roving over her legs.

“Bloody hell Granger. Had I known you had that under your robes all this time I would have fucked you ages ago.” 

She was about to fire back a response when he pulled her to a stand. Malfoy's eyes took in her skin hungrily, pausing on her chest with the look of a dying man led to water. 

“You’re too thin though.”

“Half a year of starvation will do that to you,” she quipped.

Hermione forced herself to meet his eyes confidently. It was only in August any of them were able to keep down a full meal, much to Molly Weasley's horror. With how often she was dazed she frequently forgot to eat as well. Still, she knew she had a nice body. Her legs were long and toned even if her waist was closer to the side of skinny rather than trim. Her chest and hips were perfectly average but from her understanding of boys that was more than enough. Still it gave her a certain hazy pleasure to see the Slytherin's gaze raking over her.

His fingers skid over the still visible bruises on her chest, pressing just until she hissed softly. He smirked as eyes dipped lower, dragging his hands along her sides until she quivered.

“You have a green pair of these.” His fingers tracing along the waistband of her knickers, the lace suddenly too scratchy against her skin. He hooked a finger through the fabric, pulling them low enough to fall off her hips. “I expect to see them next time.”

She nodded distantly. It felt like she was drunk again but so _so_ much better.

“Bath. Now.” He nipped lightly at her neck, bright white stars flickering across her vision at the pain. “I can’t be here all day.”

She wandered over to the bath settling into the near burning temperature slowly. It was only as it hit her swollen sex that Hermione hissed, stumbling awkwardly. Just as quickly Malfoy was there, his hand steadying her and lowering her into the water careful.

“Careful there, Granger,” he murmured. Suddenly he was slipping behind her forcing her to settle on his lap, her legs thrown over the side. “I would have a difficult time replacing you if you broke.”

When her body started to uncoil she sighed, letting the heat lap at the stiffness in silence until all she felt was water and the way his hand slid over her hips, circling just above her hip bones.

“I thought you said you weren’t gentle,” she hummed as a hand pulled her wrist above the water. He scowled at the skin before pulling it to his mouth and nipping at it, making her jump.

“I’m not,” he corrected, tightening his grip until she squirmed against his lap. “I am trying to remember exactly where those marks were.

“Malfoy-”

“No.” 

He cut her off, sliding his hand up her arms and over her shoulder, pausing to gently circle the still healing star on her collarbone. 

“You want to play with me? Fine. But there are conditions.”

His harsh tone didn’t bother her overly much considering his hands dipped lower, circling around her breast and nails scratching down her ribs as she arched her back, driving herself into the hardened length between them and groaning. Even though the bath had set to soothing sore muscles but nothing could be done to heal the actual damage, minus a visit to Madam Pomfrey. Which was not something she would ever walk into willingly.

“You’re a possessive prick,” she panted.

“Yes I am.” 

His hand slid up to encircle her neck, lightly guiding her face to him. Anger sparked just under the completely placid façade, his eyes boring into her as if trying to extract every secret she had. 

“And I don’t share. Non-negotiable, Granger.”

She thought about it, chewing on her lip. She highly doubted she could find some other socially acceptable partner with enough edge. But that did mean not seeing George on breaks. Not that he wouldn’t understand or even that she had much of a physical craving for him specifically. Honestly he would probably be relieved if not a bit chuffed. But she would miss the intimate conversations afterward, rolling up in the covers and curling against one another until he had managed to make her dissolve into a fit of laughter.

“Fine,” she agreed. His finger tip dipping around the curve of her bottom, the movement belying the hard edge to his eyes. “On two conditions.”

“Are you unaware of the meaning of ‘non-negotiable’? It’s only me or not at all.”

“You are so dramatic.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes before focusing on his face. She let her hands skid across the sharp indents near his collarbone, smiling as his eyes fluttered. When his eyes were closed and his body was relaxed like this it was like looking at a different person. 

“The first condition is that I expect the same from you.”

“That sounds suspiciously like a relationship Granger,” he mused, his jaw twitching softly.

“It’s not,” she corrected harshly. “But fair is fair. I don’t want you bringing whatever the hell you could to me from other witches...” She paused watching him contemplate the suggestion before wickedly adding. “Or wizards.”

That drew an aghast expression that pleased her greatly. Before he could respond she continued. 

“The second is secrecy.”

“Obviously,” he drawled in a shocking imitation of Snape. She wondered if he had received private lessons on how to do that.

“That means subtly; not that you are familiar with the term.”

“I hate how mouthy you are.” He purposefully tugged too tightly at her hair, her chest thrusting closer to him, allowing him to lap the dark spots on her chest.

“I hate you in general...” she responded breathlessly. His other hand came to rest on her inner thigh. “Though you are being borderline tolerable right now.”

“Agreed, on both counts. But, there are more ways to be cruel than just violence Granger,” he purred, lifting her out of the water with a jerk, plopping her hips rather harshly on the edge of the large bath. “Quite frankly I find violence to be quite gauche. It lacks nuance.”

“What are you-” She froze as he settled back into the water nudging his way between her legs. Her pulse pulse spiked as he nipped at the skin on the inner corner of her knee. Exasperation leaking into her tone as she realized what he was doing. “I can’t-”

“Calm down, Granger.” He lowered his head to her hip bones and sucked at the skin there, sending wonderfully new licks of pain shivering down her spine. He pulled away briefly to mark the other side as well, looking far too pleased to have done so. “I know what I am doing.”

She let herself fall back against the cold porcelain of the floor. Unable to look at him as his tongue traced delicately up and down the skin of her inner thigh. Without warning he would nip or scratch the sensitive skin and send her hips rolling against nothing, heat building without release. For a moment she was content to sit, still somewhat taken aback by the gentleness. But after a while she realized that heat had built up to an ache and he hadn’t moved any higher. 

She glanced down and shifted, trying to force herself a bit closer. His eyes flicked up as his movements stopped, hand placed flat against her thigh.

“Can I help you Granger?” he questioned querulous with one eyebrow raised, as if he weren’t currently placed directly between her legs. 

“I- Thought you had plans today,” she groaned, watching him drag his fingertips just past the juncture of her legs before circling to trail along her stomach. She was considering kicking him off, but then he would stop.

“I do,” he hummed, the vibrations carrying through his shoulders and into her body.

“Well?” she spat testily, trying and failing not to snarl.

“Temper, temper.” He continued to drag a single finger over her stomach, twisting it in the short curls above her public bone teasingly. She groaned, trying to thrust her hips up before realizing she was held down by his other hand hooked around her leg. “I don’t have to take care of you, you know. I could leave you just like this, all hot and bothered but unable to do anything about it.” 

She nearly screamed when he blew lightly at her core, sending her muscles sparking. Thoroughly annoyed, she moved her hands intending to finish it herself before he growled, lurching out of the water to pin her hands harshly against the cold floor.

“Did I say you could touch?” He pressed his weight against her as he held her down.

“N-no,” she murmured softly, feeling incredibly small and vulnerable. Particularly when he smiled at her like she was something amusing to be toyed with.

“No… what?”

“No, Malfoy,” she responded softly, feeling his cock prod at her. 

She watched the pleased smirk pull at the edges of his face. He leaned down, barely brushing his lips against hers.

“Good girl.”

She whined lightly, hating how easily he drew her in. When he pulled back she had every intention of dragging his face to hers by his hair. As he settled back at the apex of her thigh she quickly realized her hands were going nowhere as they were stuck to the floor with a sticking charm.

She writhed against it, not liking the loss of control when she felt a single lap at her core that whited out her thoughts. She sucked a painfully aroused breath inward, her body more than ready after all of the teasing.

When she glanced down Malfoy was watching her with a deeply amused expression, his eyes flashing. She was about to say something else when just as quickly his tongue darted out to flick at her clit, tearing a deep groan from her throat as her head fell back. Taking this as permission, he began to lavish her with light touches and licks, not enough to satisfy but just enough to leave her yearning for more. 

After a few minutes she could practically feel her veins bursting, her sex so sensitive that each touch was like agony. She struggled against the bindings, against him, desperate for release.

“You’re mine Granger.” His lips resting on the apex of her thigh. The vibrations sent painful pulses to her core, swollen and aching with need. “For as long as we do this you are mine and noone else's.”

He shifted, his light breath over her clit driving her wild.

“F-fine,” she agreed, though in her current state she would probably agree to anything. 

"Hm, That sounded rather ungrateful to me." Malfoy said. "Perhaps I should leave."

"Noooo," Hermione groaned as he flicked at her with the tip of his tongue.

"Then why don't you try that again."

Hermione let her head fall back against the floor, staring at the ceiling. "I'm-"

"Ah," Hermione squirmed as he nipped at her thigh harshly. "Look at me when I speak to you Granger."

Begrudgingly Hermione dragged her focus down. A shutter went through her body, seeing that fucking cock-sure smirk on his face as he stared at her, dropping his lips to brush across her sex.

"I'm-" she moaned deeply as his finger circled her entrance teasingly. "I'm yours Malfoy... for now."

"Was that so hard?" He lapped the flat of his tongue against her, her entire body tightening around nothing, just begging to be unleashed. His fingers trailed lightly around the darkening skin of her hips and thighs, the love bites blooming red against the pale skin of her stomach.

“And these stay, no glamours.” She had every intention of arguing when he lapped against her again sending her writhing against her restraints, pulling tightly at the bindings.

“But-” she tried when she could manage to piece together a thought again.

“They’ll be under your clothes.” He raised an eyebrow as he watched her. As if they were having an argument in class and he didn't have her pinned to the floor with his face between her legs. “Who do you think is going to see it, considering the first condition?”

“Fine,” she agreed through clenched teeth when it was very clear he wouldn’t be moving otherwise. 

He smiled triumphantly attacking her core with a flurry of sucking and flicks. After such long and delicate ministrations it had the effect similar to being hit in the chest with a brick and sent her muscles shooting ridged. Her wrist pulled tight against the charm as she fell off the edge, eyes screwing shut as white hot pleasure coursed through her veins. He was still lightly lapping at her when she came back to herself, the tiny shocks too much for her sensitive core.

“D-don't,” she whined, her hands spasming against the ceramic. Her brain was telling her to kick him away but her body shivered in anticipation.

“Don't what Granger?” 

Her hands tightened painfully against the charm, her hips bucking as he attacked the too sensitive clit again, cutting off her ability to breathe. When he paused she collapsed, shaking against the tiles. Her blood hummed in her ears.

“You are awfully sensitive Granger. I bet I could-” 

She cried as his thumb brushed across her, her body tensing tightly. It was too much, too close together. She thrashed violently, no doubt earning bruises from where his other hand still held her in place as he continued to circle. The excessive sensation sending traitorous rolls of pleasure along her spine. Just at the very edge of destruction he released her, giving her the moment to sob for breath. 

Her body twitched wildly, every nerve firing. When he lowered his head, his eyes met hers lapping just once before she was sent careening over the edge, screaming as she came.

This time she was certain she would shatter. Her shoulder blades hurt from writhing against the ceramic tiles. Her wrist were sore from pulling against the charm. Her-

She screamed when she felt another firm lap at her core. 

“Don’t Malfoy… s-stop-”

“Then let me go,” he responded testily, taking another lick.

Her thighs had locked around his head holding him to her. Somewhat embarrassed she unlocked her legs, watching as he licked his lips, the action relished and enticing. He released the sticking charm with a wave of his hand, floating back in the water to watch her with a satisfied smirk. 

As much as she loathed the idea of giving him more to preen about, her body still ached. The need to be filled burning through her core, begging for him in spite of the soreness. She sat up, pulling him to her and shifting her hips closer to the edge. Her shakign arm draped over his shoulders attempting to pull him against her.

“No you’re still too sore, as much as it pains me to admit,” he insisted, with a look that promised dark things if she wasn’t.

“That’s…” She shivered as he trailed his hand against her lower back. All in all the whole thing was almost... normal. She finished her thought as he traced the curve of her bottom. “suspiciously generous.”

“On no, don’t mistake it for kindness Granger.” He leered kissing her aggressively, the taste of her still on his mouth as his tongue twisted with her, beating it back into submission and eliciting a whine before pulling back. “I’m still not done.”

He continued to kiss her even as his hand snaked back down to her, stroking and plucking at her sensitive sex even as she writhed around him begging him to stop. He growled at her protest, pausing just long enough to roll his eyes when she looked away and rolled her hips against his hand..

“Fickle creature.” 

He set back to work as she leaned into him. He dipped to her neck, tracing invisible bruises with his tongue. His spare hand rising up to pinch at her nipples. In no time at all she was coming again, her body wrapped tightly around him, spasming under his ministrations. 

He caught her as her spine turned to jelly, sparing her a rather harsh collapse on the floor. He guided her back into the bath, half awake and behind the haze of twitching muscles. She couldn’t even find it in her to scowl at him for smirking as he climbed out of the bath.

“Better hurry along, Granger,” he stated, pulling on his clothes and casting a drying charm. He barely looked like anything had happened. “A Prefect might want to use the bath soon.” 

She waited until he left to try to move, annoyed to find her muscles spent and slow to react. It took another five minutes to set about cleaning her body, trying to avoid her painfully sensitive clit while she washed. It wasn’t that much later when in spite of her sore muscles her body was still coiled with want, the desperate need to be filled unanswered. That was the moment, unable to do anything to fill that need, that she realized what a cruel bastard Draco Malfoy was after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all,
> 
> I feel the need to clarify this. Not everyone in the BDSM world uses a safe word. Frequently, partners who are more than a one time thing examine each other and watch for cues. Almost all doms also know the difference between s-stoppppp and Hey. STOP! Again every BDSM individual is different. 
> 
> That being said consent is still VERY clear in this situation. The 'safe word' if you want to think of it that was is the 'Your wand is right there' in which she draws her wand and he backs off immediately. For later in the scene, Hermione can easily kick Draco off as her legs are free. I have added a quick warning to the beginning note but this is a rather common part of BDSM. If it's too much for you, sorry. Check out Moon Struck instead, still smutty, still angsty but not so hard core.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have caught up to my writing. May be switching to every 2 weeks for updates. I have spread myself thin with this whole too many WIP thing.

  
  


She was in the library working on that Genealogy for Harry, hoping to get it done by Christmas. The Potter line was easy enough to track and she traced it back five generations before giving up. For whatever reason the Potter’s never had many children. Harry’s only cousin from that side was a second cousin twice removed, that according to the most recently updated book on the Potter family, lived somewhere in the Himalayas as a Hermit. 

The Evans family was both more difficult and easier. There was of course, his aunt and cousin but Harry didn’t seem to have much interest in them (understandably). Muggle records she had found indicated that his grandparents had both moved to England from Switzerland and Iceland. Past that she had nothing.

Figuring it wasn’t enough, she elected to work on Sirius' as well as Remus’. It was best to have the whole picture of these things. She had just started on tracking down Sirius’ father’s family when a butterfly with wings made of pages fluttered onto the parchment in front of her, quickly turning into a caterpillar before disappearing. She yelped in surprised before turning towards the stacks.

“10 points for destru-”

“Shhh!” Madam Pince glared at her, silencing her outburst.

Hermione glared in the direction of the stacks to her left. When she was just about to give up, she saw a glimmer of a green tie. Snapping the Black Family history book shut in her hand she marched toward the shelves, intent on catching the miscreants.

She made it two rows over before she came face to face with a familiar Theo Nott.

“Hey.” He smiled awkwardly in the face of her anger, shifting awkwardly as she tapped her foot.

“Well?”

“I was just-”

“Did you damage a book?” she snapped. He quelled under her gazed for a moment before clearing his throat and straightening. 

“Of course not. I conjured it.” 

Taking a deep breath she sighed, leaning against a shelf and clutching her book to her chest.

“Good.”

“Merlin Granger,” Theo groaned. “They aren’t even your books.”

“They are still valuable!”

“You looked like you were about to kill me!” He shifted his eyes around conspiratorially. “Blink twice if Madam Pince has _imperius_ ed you.”

“Nott!” She couldn’t help the giggle that slipped from her mouth and judging from the resulting smile he had accomplished his goal. She smacked him lightly with her book. 

“Oh so you can abuse the moth food but I can’t?” he questioned looking at the text. “The Most Ancient House of Black? Why are you looking into the Blacks? They’re all dead except for-”

“Andromeda, I know.” Hermione sighed, rubbing the cover. For as long as wizards lived, the recent generations had a penchant for dying early. 

“Narcissa.” Theo raised an eyebrow as he corrected her. “Draco’s mother.”

Hermione blinked, flipping open the book to the proper generation. She immediately shied away from it not wanting to see anything to do with Bellatrix. Studiously ignoring the scrawling black name, struck through with red to indicate the lack of heirs, her finger followed the lineage over to her sisters. 

Andromeda was violently blotted out of course, but right next to her, Narcissa Malfoy’s name spun in neat cursive letters. Her husband's name appeared beside it, both written in silver to indicate a marriage resulting in an heir. She traced the path down coming to rest on the bold, black letters of ‘Draco Malfoy’.

“Oh.” 

She had no idea that Narcissa was a Black. Andromeda had rarely spoken of her sisters, not that Hermione blamed her, and Sirius only spoke of Andromeda and his “bat-shit crazy” cousin. It made sense logically of course, it had just never really connected in her mind.

“Dare I ask why you are looking into the rotted, incestuous tree that is ‘the Most Noble and Ancient house of Black’?” Hermione was forced to release another giggle as he drawled out the title in an over-the-top, posh accent while executing a low bow.

“Can you do that?” she questioned. “You won’t get struck by lightning or something?”

“Well I am talking to you and my lungs haven’t seized up so I am pretty sure anything my father had threatened  _ may  _ have been a  _ slight  _ exaggeration.” The light tone belied the underlying meaning. Hermione had to push past it, never knowing a Slytherin who wanted pity.

“Isn’t your family just as bad?” 

“I’ll have you know the Nott’s have been in England since the fourth century. Our Saxon ancestry boasts the highest regard for purity and strongly considered the anticipated engagement between myself and Narcissa a huge step down.”

“You are joking?” Hermione gazed wide eyed at the boy in front of her. “She is old enough to… well be your mother.”

“Yes, well apparently my oaf of a father couldn’t manage to knock up an 'appropriately bred' witch in time. So that generation completely passed without me. I still think I had a chance mind you, but Draco really ruined things.” He wiggled his eyebrows and smiled. “I think I got the good end of the bargain.”

Hermione had to contain her laughter or risk being ejected from the library. If someone had told her two years ago she would be cackling madly in the stacks with a pureblood Slytherin about arranged marriages she would have sent them straight to the hospital wing. While she was still trying to get her breathing under control Theo spoke again.

“So, if you are plotting to murder my best mate for his fortune I am afraid that, in spite of the wife-stealing-bastard he is, I will have to tell him. You are no forty-year-old mother of my best mate, but you would make a great consolation prize. Wouldn’t it be easier just to marry me rather than plot an assassination?”

“Nott!” She pushed back the wave of laughter again. “I’m doing research for Harry. Sirius was his godfather and when he died in the war he left everything to Harry.” 

“Ah.” That awkward silence that always hung in the air whenever someone spoke of the war was just as thick as it had ever been. 

“He… he doesn’t have much in the way of family. He has me and the Weasley’s of course… oh and Teddy.” He looked at her curiously. “What? Oh not you! His name is Edward I think. Harry wants to leave the title to him when he’s old enough.”

“Oh good.” Theo exhaled deeply. “My mother used to call me Teddy when I was a child and I did not want to question why one of the Blacks would know that.”

“Oh come off it.” She straightened. “Why did you lure me back here anyway? If you have to resort to kidnapping to get a girl to marry you, you aren't trying hard enough.”

“I’ll have you know there is a sordid history of kidnapping marriages in the Nott family. There might even be a happy one somewhere along the line.”

“Nott!” 

“Right. Sorry.” Theo cleared his throat. “I slept through Astronomy last night and I know you took notes so could I by chance-”

“That’s it?” she questioned, barely believing his audacity. “You pulled me back into the snogging stacks to ask for notes?”

“Did you want to be snogged?” A boyish smile slipped onto his face as he winked. 

“Oh knock it off. Here.” She summoned the requested notes from her table and handed the neatly rolled parchment over to him with a flourish. “Though why you wouldn’t just come up and ask me like a regular human being- Oh.”

She paused as he shifted awkwardly. The answer was obvious. She grimaced as he shoved the notes in his bag, trying not to let the behavior hurt her feelings. He seemed quite nice actually. She had been hoping… well. Can’t change what people don’t want to let go of. Particularly when it's bred into them. Even if he didn't claim to hold his father's beliefs anymore that didn't mean he wanted to be seen speaking with her in public. The rejection shouldn't hurt so much.

“I just-”

“Don’t worry about it Nott.” Her tone was clipped and he flinched, his smile disappearing as he glanced around. She deeply regretted handing off her notes now and she doubted she would get them back. Hermione turned to swiftly march away before her eyes noticeably began to shine.

“Stop it.” He sighed a long-suffering sigh as she watched him.

“Stop what?”

“Taking that tone and looking like you are about to cry.”

“I’m not-”

“It’s not you. I just don’t want-”

“To be seen with a mudblood.” To his credit he flinched back violently at the word. “I get it. Don’t want to have all your fellow snakes tease you. Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

When she tried to walk away his hand rested on her arm for only a moment before he snatched it back. 

“Sorry. I shouldn’t- I mean- It’s not that at all. I just don’t want  _ you  _ to be seen with  _ me _ .”

She stared at him a long moment, trying to make sense of the statement.

“I don’t understand.”

“Well since apparently you have not noticed I will fill you in.” He scowled no longer the grinning boy he was five minutes ago. “I am a social pariah. No one talks to me. No one looks at me. If I ever address anyone I am at best ignored and at worst hexed. I just didn’t want to drag you into it.”

“That’s awful! Who-”

“It's a fine Granger.”

“It’s not,” she insisted. “You didn’t even-”

“Thanks for the notes.” He nodded, sliding his bag back onto his shoulder. “I appreciate it, really. I’ll get them back to you later this week.”

“Let me help,” she pleaded. 

“Nothing you can do. Besides,” He smiled weakly but it was nothing in comparison to earlier. “Once I graduate, I can retire to one of my summer homes on the continent and I never have to be Theodore Nott ever again.”

“But-”

“See ya Granger.” He took a few steps away before calling over his shoulder. “It’s almost dinner time. Don’t forget to eat.”

She cursed, checking her wristwatch and indeed finding that the afternoon had slipped away. She lightly guided the genealogy up and into the currents of magic that sorted books and watched it slip away. 

000000000000000000000000000000000

Hermione had hoped she would have been lucky enough to miss the first quidditch game of the season but in light of the Harry Hols — which much to Ginny’s pleasure had become a common colloquialism— the match had been pushed back until the first week of December. In light of her recent good mood (caused by her more frequent extracurricular activities), the boys saw no reason _not_ to break into the head dorm and kidnap her for the game.

Ginny, being the only actual seventh year, was allowed to keep her spot on the team but for the sake of fairness none of the returning eighth years were allowed to try out. This meant that Ron and Harry had lost their spots but, it also meant that Ginny had what was objectively the loudest cheering section in the stadium.

Hermione flinched when the crackling sound of the speakers cut through the air. She turned to the announcer box, not sure who to expect when a warmly familiar voice echoed through the stadium. She couldn’t help but be happy she had come.

“Hello! Quidditch fans. Welcome to the first game of the season: the legendary Gryffindor vs cheating, slimy Slytherin. Now as we all know, Gryffindor is the superior team-”

“Mister Jordan! You are already making me regret this!” Headmistress McGonagall’s scolding could be heard through the speakers.

“Sorry Minnie. Er, Minerva? Still no? Okay. Sorry Headmistress. In any event! That’s right. I am your commentator Lee Jordan, better known as Rivers of Potterwatch!” 

The crowd roared, whether it was at the nostalgic commentary between the older witch and Lee or the mention of the radio show that got a good portion of the students through the war was unclear.

“Speaking of Potterwatch, Mister Potter himself can be spotted over in the Gryffindor stands this game along with the rest of the eighth years. Rubbish logic if you ask me-”

“Mister Jordan!”

The two of them bickered until the teams marched out on the field, Ginny’s hair serving as a beacon to the eye. She and her fellow chaser, a fifth year Hermione didn’t recognize, were leading the pack. It was almost wrong only seeing one head of Weasley hair on the pitch, for as long as she had known the game there had always been at least two. Her heart twinged as she glanced over to Ron, shouting encouragement to his younger sister from his seat.

They took to the air and Hermione quickly realized that the only thing that made quidditch stomachable was knowing half of the team. Hermione could only place one of the other fliers and it was only because she had caught the beater with a Wizarding Wheezes product three nights ago and given him detention. 

The game continued on for a terribly long time, neither seeker being practiced enough to catch the snitch. This eventually led to Harry stomping as close as he could to the top of the stands screaming out advice at the top of his lungs. Which may have been productive if the Slytherin seeker wasn’t also listening.

Her eyes drifted around the stadium, looking for a flash of blonde she found herself scanning for more frequently as of late. Not much was said in their quick rendezvous. He found her, they had wild, passionate, aggressive sex and then he left as soon as they were done. Occasionally with a quick healing charm if he had done too much damage to hide. It was an odd arrangement, Hermione knew that. She felt a bit cruel for it. She had never been raised to just use another human as effectively as she used Malfoy. They both kept their emotions separate, there was an unspoken rule to avoid each other’s buttons and keep talking to a minimum. She was not a mudblood, he was not a Death Eater. They were both no one to each other and it’s why it worked. She resolved that if they kept things going they way they had been, she would limp to graduation and set about finding a more permanent partner. 

Shaking out of her stupor by the sound of cheering she leaned over to make a comment about the future Potter children to Ron when she noticed his empty seat. 

“Have you seen Ron?” she asked Dean, who was screaming behind her as Ginny sank a goal.

“Said he was going to the bathroom but that was a few minutes ago.” He replied when things calmed down enough he could look away (which in Hermione’s opinion was always). 

Very soon Hermione got that nagging feeling that something was off, not wrong, just off. She excused herself, heading down to the ground level and casting a patronus to send to Ron. Just as she set about following it, she was bombarded by three silvery shapes, a hare, fox and even Harry’s stag, all with the same variation of a message. “ _Is everything alright?_ ”

Hermione instantly chastised herself, waving the all clear to multiple people already heading down the stands. She should have known better, drawing attention like that. Luckily they all saw, halting their movement to return to their seats. Completely missing where her otter had swam off to, she waited until she was behind the great curtains that lined the wood of the pitch to cast it again.

She didn’t have to follow for long. Ducking just under the stands, she spotted Ron’s hair peeking out above her, a veritable flame in the comparably dingy background. He was sitting on the wood of a rickety joist about twenty feet up that looked unable to hold his weight let alone the weight of the hundreds of people above them. 

“Ron?” she shouted up, watching him jump and flick something away. His face appeared over the beam, smiling down at her.

“Oh, sorry Hermione.” Ron rolled off the beam causing her heart to catch in her throat. He dropped slowly, swearing mildly as he hit the ground awkwardly despite the featherfall charm. “Didn’t mean to leave you up there alone.”

“Don’t worry about that.” She narrowed her eyes stepping closer. Something earthy smelling tickled at her nose. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah… Just fine.” When he responded, he lifted his hand up to rub at his head sheepishly. Something he always did when he lied.

“Ron…” She tried again, stepping close enough to definitely pick out something familiar from the scent.

“Really Hermione. I was just-” What ever he was going to say was interrupted by a small rectangular packet of cigarettes falling out of his sleeve. “Oh bugger.”

“Ronald Weasley!” she gasped as he snatched up the packet with red ears. “Those are awful for your health!”

“I know. I know,” he sighed, resigned to his lecture. “Look harp on me all you want, just don’t tell mum. She’d have a cow.”

“Of course she’d have a cow. She almost lost you to a war and now she’s risking losing you to lung cancer!” 

“Look it’s not that big of a deal.” Ron rolled his eyes. 

Much to her horror he withdrew a stick and stuck it in his mouth. Lifting his hand he lit it with a snap of his fingers. It was also so natural it must have been practiced. 

“Five points from Gryffindor,” she gritted out.

“Oh, come on!”

“It’s against school rules!” 

She crossed her arms, simultaneously wanting to get close enough to pinch his ear but also stay far away enough she didn’t have to smell it. It wasn’t as bad as she remembered from her Great Uncle. The man constantly smelled like an ashtray. Ron smelled… well still like smoke but more… natural. 

“How long?” she demanded.

“A while. Since fifth year really. I started back up this summer.” He exhaled away from her, the cloud of smoke drifting softly in the air before dissipating.

“I am disappointed in you.” 

“Oh and you’re so much better? At least I can get through the day without someone reminding me to eat!” he snapped, his temper flaring predictably. She knew her face had crumbled by the immediately contrite look on his. “Sorry. That was… I didn’t mean…”

“I find that no one means anything,” she responded coldly, Malfoy’s words from the beginning of the year echoing in the back of her head. She stared at him for a long moment, until he refused to meet her eyes and looked away.

Letting go of her anger, she walked over to his side and summoned the pack to her hand. He groaned in exasperation as she studied it. 

Hermione supposed wizards  _ did  _ have longer lives and  _ probably  _ even had treatments for this sort of thing. She took an exploratory sniff, pleased to note the mild spiciness instead of the usual bitterness of chemicals. A curious new thought planted in her head. 

“Well...We’ve already nearly died once, may as well play the odds. Give me a leg up.”

Ron’s face slid back into a goofy smile, the cigarette hanging off his lip as if it were meant to be there. He laced his fingers together, boosting her onto the beam he had previously occupied with the help of a levitation charm. Not even a few seconds later he joined her, lighting up another and handing it to her.

“What do I do?” she questioned holding the burning end of the stick as far away from her as possible.

“It won’t bite ‘Mione.” He chuckled lightly guiding it back to her lips. It was almost an intimate gesture. It may have been if they hadn’t already fallen apart once. 

“Now just inhale, but not too deeply or-” Hermione began coughing, almost falling off the beam even as Ron stabilized her. “Yeah that.”

He conjured a large glass of water for her, waiting for her to take a sip before leaning back again. She swallowed the water in large gulps, coughing half of it back up as she tried to extinguish the burning in her lungs.

“This is awful.”

“Don’t worry. Remus says everyone does that their first time.”

If he noticed the slip he didn’t correct it, waiting patiently for her to sip at the glass while holding her fag. She grimaced at it when she got control of her breathing again. “Do I have to?”

“No,” he responded, just as a roar sounded above them, Lee announcing a score by Ginny. Ron’s eyes darkened slightly, so quickly she almost missed it. He turned back to her and settled against the beam. “But the second one is better.”

“Ginny says the same thing about Vodka.” She groaned halfheartedly, staring at the dart dubiously.

“You still drink it though.” 

“That I do,” she agreed.

Ron tucked his hands behind his head as he watched her. With much more care she sucked in another breath of smoke, the burning sensation much less abrasive and taking on an almost Christmas-y flavor. She exhaled, trying to place the source when Ron answered.

“It’s clove,” he provided, watching her inhale again. “Lavender says the regular ones give her headaches even if I had  _ tergeo _ ’d it.”

“And it didn’t occur to you to just stop?” she questioned, slowly getting the hang of it. 

After a few moments she felt slightly lighter. Nothing at all like drinking but just more… relaxed. It was very subtle and she would have missed it if she hadn’t been looking for it.

“Not sure if I could at this point.” He shrugged, blowing smoke rings in the shape of twisting dragons. She wondered how she had never noticed his habit before. 

“Don’t beat yourself up ‘Mione.” He chuckled, knowing her far too well for her own good. “I was good at hiding it. Didn’t have the time or money when we were on the hunt and before that we had such different classes I could usually slip away.”

“Does Harry know?” She watched the Dragons split and fade away. 

“Nope, just Charlie. He caught me the summer of sixth year.” Which would explain the dragons. “It just keeps me level is all.”

“You do have quite the explosive temper,” she agreed taking another drag. They sat in silence enjoying the sounds of the game above them.

“Hermione… where do you go when you aren’t here?” he questioned tapping the ash off with a flick of his wrist. There was a moment of sheer panic until she realized he meant when she spaced out, not when she slipped away to find Malfoy.

“Nowhere really.” 

She was glad to have something in her hands she could fiddle with while she spoke. A lot of people thought Ron was stupid, and while his temper made him speak without thinking frequently, it had no bearing on his actual intelligence. If he wanted an answer badly enough, he would get it. 

“It’s like… I focus on everything so I can’t focus on anything. It feels like wandering through a thick fog, with only vaguely blurry lights leading the way.”

“Sounds nice,” Ron mused.

“It’s hell for me,” she murmured, trying to hang her cigarette off her lip like he did. 

It tumbled onto her stocking, burning at her skin. She hissed, batting away the ember and cursing the loss of her only Gryffindor striped pairs. 

“Guess I’ll need another one, huh?” she laughed.

But when she looked up, Ron’s cigarette had fallen as well, his mouth hanging partially open as he stared at her leg. Glancing down she cursed at where the hem of her skirt had ridden up, a fading bite mark on her inner thigh revealed.

“Shite,” she swore, scrambling to adjust her skirt while fighting a heavy flush. Long, heavy school robes would have been a much better choice. Ron remained silent, staring at the now covered skin as anger flashed behind his eyes.

“Hermione…” he warned, the tone in his voice on the edge of an absolute tantrum. “What’s-”

“Ron,” she cut him off, her tone strict as she glared off to the side. “Don’t.”

“But that-”

“I know.” She smoothed over the skirt self-consciously. “I know. I didn’t get on you about the cancer sticks, leave me alone about mine.”

Hermione risked a glance up to where he was watching her warily. He was clearly warring against his initial reaction. With a deep sigh he leaned back against his post lighting another one but not offering it to her.

“Merlin. Sisters are a bloody nightmare.” He groaned, his eyes flicking down to regard her. “It’s not McLaggen is it?”

“No!” she cried out in disgust, her face crinkling up to match his. Seeing some of the tension in his shoulders release, she let herself settle back against the joist, subtly placing a sticking charm on her skirt.

“Who is he?” 

The question sent a shiver down her spine. It was such a stupid situation, she should have been more careful. Hell, if he had been any other boy he may have taken a peek up her skirt when helping her up and no amount of nicotine would have stopped that rampage.

“You don’t want to know.” She heard Lee call out the snitch catch and thus the victory to Gryffindor. Ginny would be having a good time tonight.

“I really do,” he countered, eyes still flashing. “Me and Harry have to do the scary brother thing. I never really got the chance to with Gin since he’s my best mate but-”

“Trust me Ron,” Hermione interrupted, watching his eyes narrow. “It’s a bad idea. I promise you that I am safe and doing all of the things I should be doing.”

He paused, listening to the feet begin to rush to the common room, prepared for yet another wild Gryffindor party on the heels of their victory. Finally he snubbed out his cigarette and offered his hand.

“Fine. But promise you will come to me for whatever. I… I promise not to get mad… at you… much” A familiar friendly smile spread on his face.

“Promise.” She smiled back and grabbed his hand. 

He pitched his weight forward, sending them careening toward the ground only to land lightly on their feet. She felt the first tendrils of their friendship creeping back for the first time since fifth year. 

“And for Merlin’s sake stop wearing skirts. It’s bloody winter anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teddy:  
> Short for Edward OR Theodore. It was... an interesting choice by JK
> 
> Quidditch:  
> Someone appreciate my Lee/ McGonagall commentary. Please. I love it so much.
> 
> Ron:  
> Ron gets too much hate. He may be a shit partner for Hermione but he's still capable of being a good friend.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year. Hope you all got to avoid your racist, sexist, homophobic family members and had a quick pandemic free holiday! Enjoy

Hermione was trying to convince her body to sleep after rounds. After Malfoy had pulled her into a broom closet exactly 30 minutes before the first set, her brain had been absolutely on fire and had no interest in calming down for something as boring as sleep. And so she wandered the corridors in the silence of a castle. 

Just as she rounded the corner, she tripped over something warm, stumbling to gather her footing and reach for a wand at the same time. She eyed the foot sticking out from a particularly dusty tapestry with rage.

“Thirty points from-” She ripped back the fabric to identify whoever was tripping students in the hallway at midnight. She recoiled in horror at the dark mop of curls plastered against his head in a mix of blood and sweat. His face was swelling painfully and he was missing a tooth.

“Merlin, Nott!” she hissed, instantly falling to her knees and pushing his hair out of his face. She winced as he groaned, her hand coming away painted. “Theo! Can you hear me?”

“Urgh…. Granger? Is that you?” he slurred out. “Fancy meeting this time of night.”

“What in the hell happened? You look like you were run over by a herd of hippogryphs.” 

She cast a gentle cleaning charm on his hair, clearing away the fluids until she could identify the source. A small gash near his forehead was swiftly overflowing again but-all in-all looked much less worse than all the blood had led her to believe. 

“ _ Vulnera Sanentur.” _

She started to breathe easier as the blood slowed to a trickle. She was no healer, she needed to get him to Madam Pomfrey. 

“Can you walk?” she asked.

“Don’t worry about it.” He coughed and she tried not to cringe as blood splattered onto her shirt. His breathing was rough, pulled from his chest in harsh shaking gasp. “I’ll be fine-”

He groaned clutching at his ribs. In spite of her statement from the last time, she had no qualms about unbuttoning his uniform to his weak protest. She hissed angrily when she was met by a collection of deep black and purple bruises coating his torso and curving around his ribs. Without even touching it, she could see where his breast bone was broken, caving in where it shouldn't be.

“You won’t be fine. We have to get help.” She held up her arm trying to remember the charm that would let the school nurse follow her patronus. Before she could cast it, Theo’s hand fell with a hard thunk on her arm, his own wand pointed at his chest.

“ _ B-brackium emendo _ .” 

A sick gurgling sound emitted from his chest as the bone snapped back into place with an audible crack that set Hermione’s neck hairs on end. Suddenly breathing easier, Theo leaned back against the wall and sighed. 

“S-see. ‘M fine.”

“Are you insane?” Hermione yelled, the words echoing off the corridor. 

They were too far from any of the dormitories to be heard but if any teachers were working late in their office they may come to investigate.

“You are still bloody and bruised and we need-”

“Granger stop,” he groaned, sliding his hand off of her arm. “If I make a big deal about this it will just be worse next time.”

“Worse?” she questioned, even as she began to rifle through her beaded bag. “How could it possibly be worse? You’re nearly dead.”

He looked at her meaningfully and the action spiked her temper. Haven’t they all suffered enough. 

“I’m a ghost in these halls,” he said. “I would like that to remain figurative.”

“Ghosts don’t bleed this much,” she countered, finally pulling out her first aid kit. 

“Hence the figurative.”

With a practiced hand she began to unravel a roll of flex tape that, after last year, she vowed never to be without again. Casting a cleaning charm on the wound she had no sympathy when he flinched at the rough treatment.

“Ow.” 

“Don’t complain,” she tutted, packing some cotton against the wound tightly. “If you want a proper healing you have to go to the hospital wing. This is just a field dress, it will probably scar if you don’t get some essence of dittany for it.”

“I have tons in my room.” He waved dismissively but otherwise let her continue her sloppy bandaging instead of enraging her further. The sentence just sat like a cold stone in her stomach. 

When she finished, she set to work on his face, her  _ episkey _ taking care of the broken nose, lip and cheek. Whoever had hit him would at least be coming away with a cracked knuckle or two.

Summoning her bruise paste from her bag— silently thanking George for the industrial amount he had sent— she paused staring at the dark splotches all over his stomach and chest. 

“Give it here,” he sighed, holding out his hand with an exasperated look on his face. 

She set the tub in his hand, listening to him mutter as he spread the slave across his skin, slowly fading the damage layer by layer.

“Honestly Granger, you won a war. Touching a man’s chest shouldn’t send you into a panic.”

Coughing awkwardly she looked anywhere else but his face, her brain pulling up images of a bare chested Malfoy shuddering as she traced his collar bone. It was unhelpful.

“Oh that’s a story I need to hear,” he chuckled, letting her flush in silence. After a few minutes he handed back the tub, a weak smile on his face.

“I’ll be fine Granger. I didn’t mean to keep you up.” He buttoned up his shirt, his movement stiff and blocky. She rolled her eyes before slapping his hands away and doing it herself.

“Honestly. Boys. You’re just like Ron and Harry.” 

She deftly closed his shirt and scourgify the whole outfit. The blood had dried, leaving little stains but there wasn’t much she could do about that.

“Kicking a man while he’s down,” Theo groaned when he tried to stand. “How very Slytherin of you.”

“Shut up and stop trying to move,” she chastised, holding him down with a hand on his shoulder. 

She put away the paste and pulled out a small blue vial containing a mild pain potion. No better than a standard chemist pain reliever but it would have to do. 

“Drink this. It will take fifteen minutes to go into effect then you can try to stand.”

“Any chance you’ll just leave me here to die?” he questioned darkly.

“So fatalistic.” She settled down next to him after clearing a space of dust about a foot away.

“That’s rich coming from the house that produced Thomas,” he chuckled lightly. “That bastard’s so dark he may as well be casting unforgivables.”

“Theo!” she hissed, unable to hold the offense as a smile tugged at her face.

“Granger!” he mocked.

“Just call me Hermione. Honestly,” she grumbled, pulling her knees to her chest. 

“You  _ have _ already seen me half naked,” he agreed. “I suppose that demands a certain level of familiarity. Do contain yourself in the future though, I know my lanky body is irresistible to all women and I need to keep myself pure for our impending marriage.”

“If I ever end up meeting you at the altar, I will be the one who needs to go to the hospital wing.” 

His laugh was cut off by a wince. He drew his hand to his side and took a deep shuddering breath. There were very few people who would be able to joke after what she could only imagine to be a rather brutal fight. Even as he bled all over her, he still joked and laughed like it had just been a playground scrap. 

She wondered how she had gone her whole school life never really meeting someone so… well Theo. It was such a shame no one else could see it. She sighed, turning over the problem that was Theodore Nott in her head. After a few moments she had to make a decision.

“You said you weren’t your father,” she led, watching the way he grimaced.

“I’m not.” Tight tension rolled through his shoulders like a crashing wave.

“What would I see if I looked at your left arm?” she questioned with a boldness she did not feel. 

No one talked about the war if it could be helped, everyone was content to forget and mourn in their own way. She should leave it be, he was clearly paying the price no matter his actions. But she had to know, so she could choose correctly.

“Nothing good Granger,” he muttered. She huffed indignantly at the title. He rolled his eyes. “Sorry. Nothing good  _ Hermione _ . I don’t have a mark but there is a reason I have been able to keep myself breathing through all this…. I have been practicing for years.”

She nodded her head making her choice. Choices, lines, change, forgiveness. They were a generation full of scars, she may as well accept this as the new normal. After fifteen minutes was up she started to walk him to the dungeons even when he insisted not to. She helped him down the stairs, at the base of it she paused, waiting until Theo was half way down the corridor to ask.

“Anything I can do to help?” 

“You’ve done enough Hermione. Thanks again for saving my sorry arse. Not that it’s worth much of anything.” He shuffled uncomfortably. “Keep this up and I’m going to think you just want my attention.”

Hermione giggled at the blunt flirting and waved goodbye. She went up to her room in a fairly good mood, only scowling when she caught the boy’s blood on her shirt as she changed. She stared at it for a long while before she slid into bed wit h a new found confidence. She had always done the right thing before, why stop now.

0000000

Draco was sitting at breakfast more than pleased with the previous night's activities. He had left Granger in a broom closet with her hair a mess, legs shaking and with new marks mottling her skin. He openly smiled— something that put the rest of the common room on edge— when Blaise and Daphne walked back in complaining about her being five minutes late to patrol check in.

Blaise himself was sucking back a coffee muttering about the set of third years he caught in the trophy room doing way too much for their age. It was a bit hypocritical of him but then again as far as Draco recalled, he didn’t really become such a slag until their fourth year so maybe not.

Granger had just settled uncomfortably at the Gryffindor table between Brown and Girl Weasley and was laughing at some inane joke that Thomas had made. Draco packed the anger away for later, more than willing to put it to better use the next time he got her alone. He was growing to almost look forward to the day to day interactions as much as the little tryst.

He was of course still arguing with her in class, enjoying when he could get her riled up enough to hear that same pitch she got in her voice when her head was thrown back in ecstasy. But more than that, she had come back to life, begrudgingly admirable in her quick wit and encyclopedic knowledge. 

The thing that pleased him most was sitting ahead of her in potions and watching her save the idiots behind her from certain destruction. She would continue to lecture them on being careful while they failed to look contrite and were just pleased she was helping them. Something she could only do because he was fucking the sense back into her apparently.

He had tested his theory incidentally. He had wholly ignored her for a week, wondering when she would just get too frustrated and come begging for it. After a few days had passed he started to see her slipping into that odd, distracted state. By the end of the week he was so unnerved, he ended up dragging her into an empty classroom just to snog her senseless enough that she could make it to class without an escort. On one hand, he didn’t like having to take care of her. On the other, he couldn’t help that cold lick of pride. In a way, it was sort of like having a very loud and annoying pet.

He was distracted by his musing as Theo lumbered into the Great Hall limping slightly. Draco grimaced watching his roommate and friend, an expression that drew Blaise’s attention as well. They had both seen the bloodstained shirt on the floor this morning before the elves had been in to clean but his curtains were charmed shut.

The dark haired wizard began to make his way over to the table when a call rang out like a cannon ball across the Great Hall.

“Theodore Nott!” 

Theo froze, his eyes shooting toward Granger as she pushed up from her seat dramatically, her hand on her hips as she frowned. Perhaps used to her’s and Draco’s classroom spats, the Great Hall fell silent, watching the confrontation with great interest. It didn’t help that Granger was apparently trying to be as dramatic as possible.

“Don’t you walk away from me.” 

Theo flinched, coming to a stop just a few feet from the Slytherin table and staring at the ground. He shoved his hands in his pockets and waited, never one to defend himself.

Granger stomped up to him, her hair flaring wildly around her as she came to a halt a foot away from him. Far too close for comfort for either of them. Her hand shot out and for a moment Draco was absolutely certain she was going to hit him. 

But then, in a jaw-dropping turn of events, she rested the back of her hand against his head as if taking his temperature. Draco’s possessiveness flared before being overrun with confusion at the target.

“How are you feeling?” she questioned as normally as if she was asking about the weather. 

Theo’s eyes flicked up, flashing with uncertainty at the witch in front of him. When Nott glanced at him Draco could offer no help other than to shrug. This wasn’t his doing.

“Er. Better… Thanks Granger,” he muttered, not that it mattered. Whispers carrying the commentary passed through the tables like lightning strikes.

She pulled her hand away lacing her palms together behind her back, an all too familiar position that he knew would leave her vulnerable to a variety of attacks. She huffed, blowing a single curl away from her face in the process. 

“I told you to call me Hermione. Again, let me know if I can do anything to help.”

She waited for Theo to nod awkwardly and flounced back to Gryffindor, taking her seat with a cool air of nonchalance as if she hadn’t just stopped the morning meal on a dime. Theo stood there awkwardly for a moment, waiting for the stares to drip away. When they didn’t he strode quickly to the table, taking a seat next to Zabini.

“What in the actual fuck was that?” Blaise commented just as the noise in the Great Hall began again. 

“What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ us Theo.” Pansy baulked from his right. “Why on earth is the mudblood so friendly with you?”

“Erase that word from your vocabulary Pans,” he hissed, shocking most of the seventh years who heard it. Theo didn’t frequently pick a fight, when he did things tended to get very ugly.

“Fine.” Draco diverted the conversation before it could escalate. He ground his teeth together, trying to force out the words as feigned indifference. “Then why is  _ Granger  _ touching you?”

Not quite what he was going for but apparently the table was too dumbstruck to notice.

“She’s not so bad,” Theo stated. He nibbled on an apple slice, looking as unbothered as possible considering the circumstances. 

“But she’s-”

“The Head Girl and a nice person,” Theo finished before Pansy could say something that would result in retaliation. “We ran across each other last night and I mentioned feeling off. She was just checking in.”

“Checking in? If you think that sullying your-” 

Pansy’s rant was cut off as Draco stood, glaring over toward the lion’s table where Hermione appeared to be having a similar conversation with her housemates. She was staring at the table like she was hoping to catch it on fire.

“I’m heading to the library. Theo-” The wizard met his eye with a challenge, as if daring him to say anything. Draco schooled himself, catching Granger’s eye as he replied. “Be careful.”

“She’s not dangerous Draco,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes at the idea. 

Draco simply blinked before heading to the door just as Hermione stood raising her voice at something Weasley had said. By the time he had cleared the Great Hall he could hear her yelling over the other voices in the room.

“He’s still a fucking person! Lay off him Ron!”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Casual reminder that we are still at toxic part of the relationship. The following scene is problematic and should not be idealized in an actual relationship. Thank you.
> 
> *bad BDSM warning*
> 
> (Not explicitly but more so that they are doing it slightly wrong, a natural consequence of trying to figure it out on their own)

Hermione was still pissed, even after breakfast. She ended her unintentionally dramatic meal with a langlock jinx on Ron as she stomped from the Great Hall. She knew that there was a chance Ginny or Harry would release him from it but even they looked cowed by her response.

She was still stomping down the hall, first years scuttling out of her warpath, when she remembered she was supposed to be heading towards Charms and she still didn’t have her books. 

She cast a quick  _ tempus  _ seeing that class had already started and she was going to be dreadfully late. She was cursing her lack of time turner as she cut through the library. It was pure coincidence that she caught a flash of blond hair heading down the empty corridor towards her. Her eyes locked onto his, likely looking mildly insane.

That was another thing. For all that Slytherin’s preach for intra-house unity, why in the fuck hadn’t anyone done anything to keep Theo safe. He was practically an angel compared to the rest of Slytherin house and they just let other students wallop on him for no reason. Adjusting her objective she stomped over to Malfoy. 

“Gr-” 

He was cut off as she snatched at his tie, hauling him behind her in a way that in another situation may be comical. Her wand snapped toward an empty classroom, throwing the door open and slamming it shut behind them.

“Ow. What the fuck?” He slapped her hand away grumbling at his neck. “Could you be more obv-”

She didn’t give him a chance to finish, throwing her body against his and making them fall against the wall. She kissed aggressively, letting her anger wear down against him, nipping at his lips and tongue. When he pulled away she attacked his neck, noticing his hands spasm against her lower back when she bit down hard at his pulse point.

“Granger, what the fuck are you doing,” he hissed pulling her head back by her hair. She whined at the loss of flesh, a sinful heat between her legs spurning her on.

“What does it look like?” she growled, gripping his length through his pants. He let out a groan, his head falling back against the stone for a moment before he snarled, spinning her against the wall. 

“I don’t recall giving you permission to touch that,” he rumbled into her neck, laving at still tender bruises from last night.

His cock pressed into her stomach sending her squirming. She nipped at the already reddening mark on his neck, painfully apparent against his white skin. He groaned, pushing against her before shooting away from the wall, a scowl on his face as his hand shot to his neck.

“That’s going to leave a mark,” he hissed.

“Shut up and deal with it.” She tried to pull him forward again but he blocked her hand. “Oh my god,  _ what _ ?”

“What do you mean ‘what’ Granger? You pulled me into this classroom and started attacking me like a desperate heiress then have the gall to ask me ‘what’?”

“Are you going to shut up and fuck me or not?” she spat.

“That depends, are you going to explain what the fuck is going on here?”

“I don’t need to explain anything to you Malfoy,” Hermione snarled. “You seem to have mistaken yourself for something more than just a means to an end for me. Just shut up and do the only thing you’re good at.”

He growled and pushed away, taking a step back with his face curled into a look of disgust. It was a bit too close to familiar and it stung.

“What’s you’re fucking problem?”

He glared at her while she leaned against the wall. Her body was so full of rage and energy that she might burst and currently there was only one person to direct it at.

“You’re my fucking problem,” she shouted back, casting a heavy silencing spell on at the room. “How could you just let them hurt him like that?!?”

“What the… Nott? Merlin, you’re talking about Nott.” He groaned and began pacing the room, anger radiating off him in waves. “Why the fuck do you care?”

“Why don’t you?” she questioned back, resisting the urge to hex him immediately. “He’s your housemate and yet I am the one dragging him back to the dungeons covered in bruises and scrapes like a bloody crash dummy!”

“In Slytherin we mind our own business,” he barked, not even breaking pace. “He hasn’t asked for help so we stayed the hell out of it. Weren’t you just praising your friends earlier this term for doing the same?”

“I wasn’t lying nearly dead in a corridor in the middle of the night!” 

“And I wasn’t the one who did it!” He stalked up to her, his eyes narrowed. “So why are you angry with me me?”

“I’m not angry with you!” she yelled.

“Oh I forgot, in Gryffindor physically dragging a man into a room to scream at him is part of the courtship ritual,” he scoffed, looming over her threateningly. “Don’t take your idiot friend’s opinions out on me.”

Hermione hissed, Ron's calls of 'Death Eater' and 'gullible' still ringing in her ears. She glared at Malfoy, crossing her arms. “You don’t know anything. Just shut up and be useful for one second of your miserable life.”

“Then who are you angry with Granger? If not me, or Theo, or your friends, why are you positively vibrating with magic, a second away from burning this whole place down with just a thought?” Malfoy asked, drawing a hand to trace over the bruises on her neck without dropping his glare. “What has you pissed off enough to drag yourself to me? Why are you buzzing around me in the first place? You should be hexing me, not dragging me into classrooms to fuck. Literally any other option would be better than me. So what in the fuck are you pissed at?”

Hermione seethed, tempted to hex him just to prove a point. She was pissed that he was making her think about this instead of just taking care of it. She was enraged at the people who hurt Theo but will never be punished. She was furious with the school for letting it happen. She hated that Theo wouldn’t let her help so she did so in the only way she could and then she was livid with the way her friends reacted. She was _angry_ that she fought a fucking war for equality only to end up on the winning side and still saw prejudice against someone for the circumstances of his birth. There was just so much anger she felt like she was about to burst. 

Draco swore and she felt his unfamiliar magic ripple over her for just a moment before her own poured out.

“Everything!” she screamed, hearing most of the glassware in whatever room they were in shatter in a wave of burning magic. Heat cut through the air painfully, swirling around them in a hot spiral pulling up glass an parchment in the chaos.

But as soon as it had started it stopped, leaving her achingly cold and drained. Glass and paper fluttered as it fell to the ground, emphasizing the destruction around them. She sunk down to the floor, tucking her head into her knees and fighting off the urge to sob. 

“I despise that the fucking war is still taking from us,” she screamed into her lap. “I can’t stand how the ghosts of this place still follow each and everyone of us around. I hate this new world where everything seems okay when it’s not and I loathe that I can’t do anything to stop it.”

The tears fell anyway, burning paths of resentment and wrath. She wanted to scream and destroy, to tear everything away until they had no choice but to understand! It wasn’t just Theo, it was the student’s still walking the halls with their eyes searching for exits. It was the way wands were drawn first and thought about second. It was the way that third years fought fifth years in revenge for their families. She hated every minute of it and she couldn’t just let it go.

She jumped when she felt a hesitant hand run down her arm. His voice took on that soft, rare sound as he spoke. "Isn’t there...Shouldn’t I get someone else for this?”

She glanced up, her eyes meeting his, a look of uncertainty painted across his features. His eyes we soft, almost calming in their color and a bit too close to concerned for her taste. She stared at him a moment, her hate flowing out of her like toxic sludge, infecting the very air around them. He didn’t cringe away, or tell her to stop being angry. He just watched her unfazed as they breathed in the poison around them. 

“Make it stop," she said finally. "Please.”

“This isn’t… I can’t..." he stalled, stumbling over the words. "I’m not that kind of person. I don’t  _ do _ comfort.”

“I don’t need comfort, Malfoy,” she responded tiredly. “I just need it all to go away for a while.”

Malfoy frowned, running his hand through his hair as he thought. He shifted in his crouch and for a moment she thought she had broken all of this. That he would leave and she would sink back into the nothingness. But then he spoke.

“I really don’t know what to do here, Granger.”

“You do though.” She watched him, hoping he would understand. 

His eyes flickered then glanced to the side. She had never seen him look so unsure before. And maybe they were crossing a line here, they seemed to be good at that. But the world was changing and she had to change too. She allowed herself this because it was the only way to force herself forward.

His hand tightened in finality before he stood, hauling her up by the hair. She yelped, the already sore scalp protesting the movement. Her body grew warm again when he threw her into an empty desk, the wood catching her in the thigh and scraping along the floor.

Suddenly he was behind her, one hand at her waist and the other pushing her chest down against the desk, her body broiling with resentment and the kind of pain she couldn’t see the cause of. If she did nothing it would eat away her from the inside out until there was nothing left. He could tear it away from her, like he promised he would.

She let out a choked sob as he yanked down her slacks, scratching along her spine as he did so. He swore softly, stroking his fingers through her soaked folds for only a moment before smacking her arse with a harsh snap. 

The white burn of pain overrode her senses, centering her as he struck her again and again, the skin burning raw under the onslaught. Then, almost delicately, he traced his hand over the heated skin drawing out a moan that turned into a scream as he slid his cock into her without warning.

Her body quivered around him as he thrust in and out of her, his hands gripping around her hip bones and digging harshly into the tissue. She groaned, her chest sliding against the surface of the desk as he ground deeply into her, her brain an explosion of white stars and red poppies. It was punishing and painful, but it was also exactly what she needed.

“More.”

The word was barely out of her mouth before his nails dug into her back, her skin prickling in tight little lines down her spine. He leaned over, teeth clamping down on an already bruised part of her shoulder, the sharp stab of agony blurring away her vision.

“More,” she demanded again.

He hesitated and it had her squirming against him. He swore, his hand drifting down her hip and towards her thigh. When she heard the metal of a clinking belt she whimpered, fluttering around him.

“No flirting around this one, Granger.” He pumped into her once before withdrawing, drawing another moan from her. “If you want it you have to ask. Otherwise I won’t-”

“Please, Malfoy.”

For the first time since they started this, she was fully sincere as she said it. This wasn’t a caught in the moment sentence or a driven to the edge utterance. She was truly begging him, and he knew it.

“There’s no room for misunderstandings on this one. You have to tell me what you want.” 

She hated the reluctance in his voice. He sounded like George did the night he gave her more than he was willing to and then he never looked at her the same way again. It occurred to her that Malfoy was a person, one who may have his own lines and boundaries she had never considered. Maybe one that they were at now. But she pushed anyway. There was no reason he couldn’t just walk away on his own if he wanted so who was she hurting?

“Hit me with your belt...please.”

She stilled, straining her ears trying to- CRACK!

She whined, feeling the lash burn across her skin in a searing sting just above her thighs. Her vision blurred for a moment before her body remembered to breathe. Her muscles collapsed under her as she dragged in ragged breaths.

“Where is your wand, Granger?” 

His voice was cold, such a departure from the soft sound from earlier. That was easier to manage, more familiar and it didn't leave confusing thoughts in her head. Her fingers twitched as she called out an _accio_ to her trusty vinewood. It flew up to her hand with ease, warm and inviting in her palm.

“Right here.”

“I am going to strike you four more times and you will drop the situation about Theo until he asks you otherwise. Am I clear?”

She whined weakly when his thumb traced lightly over the welt, so softly but still flaring the pain. Tears pulled at the corners of her eyes but rather than feeling like defeat, they felt freeing. Then Malfoy gripped harder, holding her still until she whined again.

“I said, Am I clear?” he hissed, his hand increasing the pressure with every word.

“Clear,” she moaned. 

Her voice was muted, almost trance like. When the next flay hit across her bare bottom she yelped, pain blotting out everything but the way her blood was draining down her spine. The second and third lashes had her arching her back, her skin threatening to break open and if that happened every bit of her would fall out, leaving everything that was Hermione Granger puddled on the floor.

“Last one.” His voice was ragged and strained, something that may have concerned her in a better mindset. As it was she was just bracing for the-

CRACK!

This time she screamed, skin nearly boiling from the heat. She heard the sound of leather hitting the floor before he lined back up, pausing just long enough to speak.

“Your wand’s-”

“Here,” she moaned out, her fingers splayed over it. He didn’t need any more prompting, slamming into her at a brutal pace that set her skin alight as he pressed against rising welts.

“You hate everything, do you Granger?” he growled, his voice as strained and feral as his erratic thrusts.

It completely lacked the usual tight control she had come to associate with their activities. She tried to respond just as he slammed against that spot deep within her, drawing himself against her in a slow grinding motion until she felt like she was drowning. Her vision blurring with a mix of tears, pain and pleasure.

“Fine. Hate it all. Let it fucking consume you,” he groaned, his hands tightening around her hips as his muscles stiffened. “But don’t forget to hate me too.”

His thrusts grew faster, the only warning she had before she was thrown into a deep pit of ecstasy, falling apart around him as he continued to pump into her mercilessly, her body screaming in a sea of agony and pleasure. Her eyes snapped shut blocking out everything but his voice.

He roared as he climaxed, crushing against her as he rode it out. 

When she opened her eyes she was still staring at the desk, tracing patterns in the wood with her breath. All thought had cleared from her head and left her weightless and so blissfully calm she felt like she was breathing for the first time in years.

She sighed lightly as his fingers slid over her hips, one hand tracing the welts gently and the other to support himself on the table. A draft had slipped in, cooling her burning skin and wicking away at the aura of the room.

Finally he withdrew, stepping away to adjust himself as she stood to do the same on unsteady legs. She winced as the fabric scraped against still hot skin on her bottom. 

When she looked up she was surprised to see him still there, leaning against the wall as he watched her with an unreadable expression on his face. Usually he left by now. 

For a moment they just stared at each other, examining the crack in the façade that had stood strongly between them until now. Something had changed, and neither of them was sure what that meant. It was eventually him who spoke, pushing off the wall and cracking his neck.

“Are you okay?” 

That fucking soft voice again. God she hated it so much. She definitely didn't want to hear it from him.

“Don’t,” she choked out, feeling small and vulnerable. “Don’t act like you fucking care.”

His eyes flashed, something between hurt, pity, and anger. 

“I’m going to give you a piece of advice, Granger.” He straightened his tie and pushed his hair back. The only evidence of her attack was the fading flush on his cheeks and darkening mark on his collar. “Honor your demons. Lest they rear their ugly heads at inopportune times.”

He walked to the door opening just a crack before turning to glance at her over his shoulder. His eyes looked pained, something she hadn’t really expected to ever see from him.

“Do you hate yourself Granger?” he whispered, the sound almost lost in the cavernous classroom. “I know I do.” 

She waited to respond, long after the door had closed and his footsteps had faded from the corridor, hating how hollow she sounded. 

“Only a little bit.”

000000000000000000000000

When she finally dragged herself to her room she had missed two hours of Charms. Considering it a lost cause she returned to her head dorm and showered, washing away any evidence of her morning. When the water had run cool, past what even magic could heat, she was forced to exit and got dressed just to fall into bed. She was isolated, like she was back in the fog but this time painfully aware and unable to do anything about it. She felt empty.

_ “Are you okay?” _

She didn’t understand that softness, the almost careful kindness that first appeared in the form of a glass of water in the moonlight. That small offered moment of peace that threw their whole arrangement past ‘no ones’ and into something else.

_ “I don’t know what to do.”  _

It was a statement of weakness. Words that carried the requisition of permission. Something that indicated that care was to be taken.

_ ”Isn’t there...Shouldn’t I get someone else for this?” _

He should have. She should have asked for someone else. Now everything was different. This time she had not meant to cross the line. This line was something else...it meant that she was forced to reexamine everything that was Draco Malfoy. It meant that people were complex, and didn’t fit in little boxes of good and evil, light and dark. And if that’s the case she was left holding a card with his name on it, staring at an empty table with nowhere to put it.

Before she could ruminate too long on that she heard a peculiar knock on the Head’s common room door. It took her a moment to recognize the beat as matching the tune ‘Helga never huffs nor puffs’. 

With a groan she stared at the ceiling, hoping whoever it was would just go away. The knocking stopped and she was working up the energy to make sure there wasn’t a collapsed student outside when her bedroom door opened. 

She shot up just as Luna wandered in, her gaze floating around the room in mild curiosity.

“Luna!” Hermione cried, resisting the urge to pull the covers to her chest even though she was fully dressed. “How on earth did you get in?”

“Oh, I just told the door I wanted to go for a stroll.” 

The portal to the head dorm was a landscape of the garden usually opening to the password, ‘bumbershoot’. She stared at Luna still trying to figure out what was going on as the girl roamed around the room. 

“It’s very nice in here,” Luna mused tickling at the golden rope that kept her curtains open. “I was concerned by the amount of Flarphetals in your hair when you left breakfast but you seemed to have excised them just fine.”

“Uh, thanks Luna.” Hermione nodded as the girl settled on her bed throwing herself back so that her hair sprawled across Hermione’s legs. “Er… did you need something?”

“Of course not,” the blonde mused, her eyes following what appeared to be dust motes as they drifted in the air. “I’m here for you.”

“Pardon?” Hermione questioned. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Luna, in fact the girl was one of the few people who could keep up with her in a solid debate when she felt like it. It was just that almost half the things that came out of her mouth were nonsense.

“I was watching the Day-de-lions dream under the snow and saw an image of you crying. Are you quite alright? We wouldn’t want them to have nightmares and wake up before spring.”

The other part of Luna that made her uncomfortable was the absolutely eerie way she seemed to always know everything. Particularly because she never seemed to care about any of it. 

“I’m fine Luna,” Hermione muttered, mostly just wanting the other girl out of her dorm so that she could stew in peace.

“I thought what you did for Theodore was quite nice. He’s a good one,” she hummed, turning her head so that her cerulean eyes stared at Hermione. They were so large and open that they edged the line of uncanny.

“I ran across him during rounds. He mentioned he wasn’t feeling well,” she waved dismissively.

“Hmm, I see. I can understand that.“ Her eyes glazed for a moment before returning to the present. “Do you think that cut on his head will scar?”

“I-” Hermione sputtered wondering how Luna had noticed the injury from the Ravenclaw table. She could barely see it a foot away from him.

“Well, I think it was a kind thing to do. We can never have peace until we learn to let go of the hate we hold on to.”

“Some of us need that hate to hold on,” Hermione whispered, watching her hand twisting in Luna’s hair of its own accord. So similar and just a shade off of Malfoy’s. “Some of us want to be angry.”

“You can be angry,” Luna agreed, folding her hands across her chest. “I find myself angry quite frequently. But you can’t find peace if you are drowning in hate.”

“Peace feels too much like nothing,” Hermione responded, watching the strands fall through her fingers. “And there are some people I know I can't forgive.”

“The first step to forgiveness is familiarity,” Lune said sagely, rising off the bed and holding her hand out. “It’s something you won't find hiding in here.”

“I’m not hiding,” Hermione spat defensively. Luna just cocked her head to the side.

“You’re not? Oh, Ron and Harry are going to be terribly disappointed. They have been seeking you all day. I told them to try the old artifacts classroom by the library earlier but I don’t think they listened.” 

“I-” Hermione paused, remembering the crash of metal and glass as she had her little breakdown, Malfoy's magic seemingly sealing it off from the castle. She stared at the dotty girl in front of her, the tickling of suspicion scrawling up her spine. “What do you know?”

“A lot of things,” Luna responded primly. “And nothing at all. Now you should come along. It’s dinner time and I believe you should have a discussion with a certain person.”

“Probably,” Hermione sighed, grabbing Luna’s hand and pulling herself to a stand. “I need to apologize to Ron. I shouldn’t have hexed him like that.”

Luna just looked at her oddly. 

“It wasn’t Ronald I was thinking of,” she hummed as she started off down the stairs leaving Hermione to trail behind more lost than she had started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's the last chapter I felt truly 'eh' about. From here on out, so far I think they get much better.
> 
> Seasonal Depression is getting me big time. If I may request your favorite extremely emotional (happy, sad, or angry) songs I would appreciate it.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good Lord! I am late. I apologize.
> 
> My "Make Me Feel" spotify playlist grows. Keep them coming. (Note: I accept songs from all genera and languages.)

Draco was having a crisis. A moment of regret and complication in his otherwise ridged life. Okay, many moments. They all centered around a pissed off, hellcat of a witch. 

It had been so easy to just slip into what she needed, what she wanted. He had never considered that he  _ wanted _ to be needed until he experienced it. Hell, he hadn’t even realized it  _ while _ it was happening. It wasn’t until the very end, his hand stroking over her injured flesh and resisting the urge to heal and praise her, that it occurred to him that he wasn’t  _ supposed  _ to be the sort of man to care about that sort of thing. That wasn’t how their deal worked.

Draco’s hand shook as he pushed his hair back under the spray, mindful of the possessive mark etched into his neck. It burned like hell every time he moved but it just echoed a sense of longing through him.

He had ignored the alarm bells screaming in his head earlier and was now paying the price. Guilt swam in his lungs, choking his breathing and blurring his mind. It wasn’t that he hurt her. Bloody hell, she loved to be hurt and some dark, viscous part of him would never turn down the chance to inflict pain. Not when her cries of pleasure begged for more, like she was broken in a way that let him ignore his own cracks. 

The issue was the fucking knot that formed in his throat when she fell to the ground crying. It was how quickly his anger bled away when her own flared in a feral beauty that took his breath away. It was how his hands ran down her arm trying to comfort her when he hadn’t consciously told them to. The second his magic touched her she was no longer Granger, who faded like a winter flower if he wasn’t paying enough attention to drag her away for a rough fuck. 

She was an angry, hurt witch, who had given everything to save the world from people like him and had still ended up losing. With her collapsed on the floor this didn’t feel like a favor or a penance. It felt a-fucking-lot like concern.

“Shite,” he muttered.

He shut off the water with a frown, hating himself for taking advantage. For listening to her when she told him to take control. She had asked for help and he had viciously fucked her because he was an emotionally stunted child with no idea what else to do. He could have gotten someone, anyone. Okay maybe not Potter or Weasley but it was fucking Granger. He probably could close his eyes, throw a rock, and still hit someone who cared about her. Instead when she told him she needed him to make it all go away his mind roared whispering the vile things he wished he could do to her. That she was asking him to do to her.

Cherry red welts across her perfect arse flashed through his mind. He didn’t even have the decency to heal them for her and he doubted she’d ever ask for the help. He didn’t doubt for a moment that she would keep her word and just suffer through the pain, ever the martyr. 

Draco stepped out of the shower, catching his reflection in the mirror. He had gained weight since coming back to school, finally filling out the old robes that he hadn’t bothered replacing. His hair looked less lank and his face less harsh and more angular. His mother would no doubt remark on it in a couple of weeks when he went home for the holidays, pleased with his apparent turn in health. If only she knew the cause of it... 

Draco caught sight of the already-bruising mark high on his neck. He pulled his wand from the counter, poised to apply a heavy glamour until he could get ahold of some healing cream from Theo. Watching the action in the mirror he paused, his eyes glued to the white of his wand against the berry red of the bruise. Almost hesitantly he pulled away, surprised by his own thoughts.

It wasn’t fair, that he could vanish all evidence of her rage when she could not. That he was one of the people who created the world that she had so hated in the past and gotten away with it while she still suffered in the present. Even though Draco had never been concerned about what was ‘fair’ or ‘just’, this was the least he could give her. To let her know she had hurt him, even if it wasn’t half the damage he had done to her. 

He quickly got dressed and fell into bed. She was in his head now, a virulent disease eating away at him. Separation was key… and time. Thankfully, he had the rest of the weekend to try to figure out how his penance had become so personal.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000

By the time Monday rolled around Hermione was much calmer. Thankfully, Malfoy had been hiding somewhere where he couldn’t distract her with contradictions that made no sense. Ron was prodded into an apology by Ginny and Hermione forgave him readily under the condition that he accept hers as well. 

It wasn’t until he pulled her aside on Monday morning that she realized why he had been so upset.

“Did it have to be Nott?” Ron asked on their way to breakfast. His shoulders rolled in a defeated sort of anger she had grown used to over the years. Not close enough to risk an explosion but still not safe to prod.

“I’m sorry, Ron,” she said. “I don’t quite understand what you mean.”

He stopped them short of the Great Hall, remaining silent until a contingency of Ravenclaw third years cleared out of the hall. The tips of his ears flushed red as he muttered to himself. Normally she would just demand he spit it out, but she was still coming down off the high from a few days ago. So instead she just waited, letting him work through his words. Eventually he sighed, fiddling with what she now knew was a packet of cigarettes in his pocket.

“Nott,” Ron said finally, looking at her as blankly as he could. Unfortunately in Ron’s case it made him appear like he was about to be sick. “You and him?”

“What about me and him?” Hermione asked, cocking her head to the side as she tried to parse out his meaning. Ron took another deep breath.

“You’re a… thing.” His face flushed bright red as he looked away, waving his hands in the general direction of her legs. It took her a moment to connect the dots, and when she did a bright laugher bubbled up from her chest.

“Merlin! No!” Her laughter only grew in the apparent relief on his face. “We’re just friends you goof!”

“Well what was I supposed to think!” Ron sighed in relief. After a moment he pinned her with a glare. “You wouldn’t lie to me about this, right? Cause I can be totally... okay with it... eventually.”

“Of course not!” Hermione managed to choke out through heaving breaths.

“Thank Godric. I don’t know what I’d do if you had hooked up with some Death Eater and I had to sit through Christmas dinner with him or something.” Ron’s obvious relief killed her humor instantly. She regained control of herself and narrowed her eyes at him.

“Theo is  _ not _ a Death Eater.”

“Well not anymore obviously-”

“No,” Hermione snapped. “He never was. He doesn’t have a mark and he never subscribed to the beliefs.”

“But his father-”

“Are you like your father?” Hermione questioned. There was absolutely nothing wrong with Arthur, but Ron most certainly lacked his father’s general affability and innate curiousness. 

“No,” Ron mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. After a second of awkward silence he glanced up with a sigh. “Fine. Whatever. You’ll just be careful?”

“I don’t need-” 

“I know you don’t need looking after.” He cut her off before her anger could rise. “But please be careful ‘Mione. I just worry. Blame mum. She’s rubbed off on me.”

In the face of his awkward smile she couldn’t stay mad. Instead she rolled her eyes and smiled indulgently.

“Okay  _ mum _ . I’ll keep an eye out for Theo torturing some hapless first years.” Ron’s smile disappeared as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Her’s did too. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled awkwardly.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Dean,” Ron grumbled before turning away from the hall. “Go on, I’ll be there in ten.”

“Where are you-” She cut herself off with a frown when he tapped the square imprint in his pocket with a lazy grin. 

“Two points from Gryffindor,” she grumbled, ignoring his laugh. 

She stomped into the Great Hall in a huff, mostly played up for Ron’s benefit. As soon as he was out of sight she fell back into a happy pace. She paused as a flash of white blonde caught her eye at the Slytherin table. It was his first appearance since the weekend and Hermione couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit guilty. For that reason alone, she selected a seat next to Ginny facing away from the Slytherins.

“So you noticed it then?” Ginny asked, turning on Hermione in an electric whirl of auburn.

“Pardon?”

“Malfoy, obviously.”

Hermione was relieved she hadn’t poured her coffee yet otherwise she would have been spitting it out. Instead she simply scooped some eggs and tomatoes onto her plate. She forced a vaguely annoyed tone to her voice.

“Yes. He exists the last time I checked.”

“No! His neck!” Lavender urged from across the table, her eyes shooting up in glee to look over Hermione’s shoulder. Hermione’s blanching was covered by Pavarti pinching at Lavender’s arm.

“Stop it. He’s looking!” Parvati said, trying to look natural.    
  


Hermione had no qualms about her spying. Anything that would keep the table from noticing her suddenly bloodless face. She turned in her seat, glancing at the blonde just across the hall. His gaze met hers blandly, giving nothing away. After a moment he looked down at his plate, fiddling with his eggs with a frown. Hermione glanced down, unable to hide her gasp at deep purple bruise just below his jaw. There wasn’t even a poorly executed glamor, he hadn’t even tried.

“Sickening isn’t it.” Hermione turned back to Harry’s voice, sitting unnoticed beside his girlfriend. “They have been nattering about it all morning.”

Harry scowled as the gossiping wonder team flipped him two fingers before resuming their breakfast.

“Hermione, you left at the same time he did,” Lavender urged, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“What about it?” 

“Well did you see anything?” Parvati continued. “Like someone else in the hall? Or where he had slipped off to?”

“I don’t deign to pay attention to the likes of Malfoy,” Hermione responded, poking at her food. She tried hopelessly to divert the conversation. “Must have been some fight.”

“Yeah right,” Dean snorted from down the table. “I have had my fair share of love bites and I can see that one from a mile away. Parkinson  _ has _ been known to have a nasty temper.”

She frowned but turned back and spotted the familiar black bob leaning far too closely to Malfoy for Hermione’s liking. They had a deal and she trusted that he wouldn’t take Pansy up on the offer, she just-

Blinking slowly, her previous thought played back again. She turned back to her food to digest the idea. She most certainly did  _ not _ trust him… well… mostly. It was hard to argue that she didn’t have some level of trust with their  _ arrangement _ . You had to in their sort of situation. It was very… private. Intimate would be a word some used. It was only natural when one person was at the other’s mercy so thoroughly.

And it wasn’t really undeserved either. The only time she had ever felt truly in danger was in the bathroom that one time and even then when she made it clear that she wasn’t playing around he backed off immediately. At the very least she could say she trusted him not to hurt her too much… more than she wanted… except when she asked. Ugh.

Merlin this was giving her a headache. As the argument continued she risked another glance over her shoulder. Where he usually met her gaze unquestioningly, he was surprisingly demure this morning. When he turned his head and winced she frowned. Guilt swam through her chest reminding her that he had never mentioned wanting to be on the receiving end of pain. But he could have just told her to stop. Sure he had pulled her away when he realized there would be a mark but he didn’t _ leave _ . He-

It was at that moment Hermione realized he had never  _ actually _ told her no to anything. Every time she wanted to do something to him or demanded something from him he always complied in the end. Sometimes after a frustrating amount of teasing. He had never really specified that he wanted any of this. As a matter of fact he made every interaction sound… well like a bit of a chore. She had just assumed he was toying with her, playing the part but… maybe, for whatever misguided reason, he didn’t feel like he could tell her no. Maybe she was no better than Ron, assuming that Malfoy would have no qualms about hurting someone else. After all a chase through the halls was significantly lower key than what they just did.

For the first time real panic struck her. What if he hadn’t liked any of this at all? He mentioned back in October noticing how out of sorts she was without him. What if he was only pulling her aside for her sake? What if, for one Merlin-bedamned-second, Malfoy had developed a conscience and was forcing himself to do this out of some level of duty and guilt to-

“Alright Hermione? You look a bit peaky.” Ginny, poked her side drawing her out of the mild panic attack. She realized she had been staring so long that Malfoy had completely vacated his seat and disappeared from the hall, his breakfast only partially eaten.

“Fine,” she said, feeling fear rolling just below the surface. “Just a bit tired.”

The group around her nodded slowly, having heard that same excuse hundreds of times. By the time conversation picked back up Hermione’s thoughts were whirling and she pushed away her uneaten breakfast. There was no room for it with the remorse pooling in her stomach.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Hermione had finished the research portion of Harry’s family tree. To be quite honest, she had taken most of the spellwork from the Black Family tapestry. Before it had been used as a display of disappointment and cruelty, it had been a beautiful piece of magic. This first one would be on parchment but she had hoped to eventually get a proper hanging to keep for posterity. She had looked earlier in the year but couldn’t decide between velvet and linen. Harry seemed more like a linen sort of guy. Very simple. Not that Harry was-

“Hermione.” 

She swore under her breath as she set down the now dried quill in front of her. She had been doing it again. The first of the slips. Malfoy hadn’t spoken, argued, kidnapped, or even looked at her all week. She had pushed him and was facing the consequences. 

It was clear as day that he was swimming in regret. This time he didn’t even glance at her occasionally. If she were braver, like she was supposed to be, she would force him into a broom closet and make him talk to her. But after the last time this happened with someone, she knew the best she could hope for was to let him come back on his own. Even if it meant silence. Even if it meant a return to-

“Hermione!” 

The hiss pulled her out again, having sounded more annoyed the second time. She looked up, searching through the stacks for whoever was trying to grab her attention. It was a busy day at the library, students clustered all about. A group of fifth years had gathered to her right, studying for OWLs. Susan and Hannah snickered over something to her left (an action that would have gotten a firm reprimand from Madam Pince if she had not left for a bathroom break). And…. a flash of green and silver disappearing just behind a bookshelf. 

Considering the fact that Malfoy was certainly not that stupid, she deduced that there was only one other Slytherin that would be trying to get her attention covertly. She waited patiently, her hands folded over the table in front of her. When he poked his head out and began to call her name again she projected her voice to the area around her.

“Her-”

“Theo Nott! I will not be going into the snogging stacks with you and I find it deplorable that you would suggest it”

He dove away from the shelves as if they were about to consume him, his face burning red as he glared at her. Almost instantly, a wave of whispers ascended around them and three people scurried out of the nearest exit.

He stomped over to her table and sat with a long suffering sigh. After a few minutes of being glared at she looked up from her book.

“You know just coming to sit at my table is a much less dramatic way to get my attention.”

“Do you have any idea how many rumors you just started?”

“Who said they were rumors? You did offer to marry me.”

“Are you taking me up on that?” His boyish grin was infectious.

“Of course not, but rumors can be useful.” 

“And how am I useful?”

“The rumors will help hide my secrets,” she deadpanned.

He barked out a laugh, and leaned back in his chair. She had caught him multiple times in public, dragging him into conversation on homework and theory. He always responded but there was an air of caution to him. Like he thought she was going to pull the rug out from under him and it would all be some big joke. She thought he just needed a little push.

“Alright. Alright. For the sake of your secrets,” he laughed.

“Not that I mind the company but did you need something?”

“Actually I-”

“Is someone giving you trouble? Who is it? Should I get-”

“Merlin Granger,” Theo interrupted. “I’m fine alright. Don’t go all Head Girl on me.”

She waited for him to continue, noting the whispers dying down to a mere murmur. The news had already spread and would probably be hitting the common room by now. Not that they didn’t already exist after her very public greeting in the Great Hall. More fuel for the fire she supposed.

“It’s er… about a friend.”

“Right…” she prompted. “A friend.”

“I wanted to know if you’ve had any run-ins around the castle lately.”

“Run-ins?”

“Yeah. Of the shouting or dueling sort?”

“That depends.” She raised an eyebrow trying to figure out where he was going with this. “I yell at a lot of people.”

“No, you wouldn’t have done the yelling… more so been the target maybe… or perhaps not...” 

When he looked up from picking at whorls on the table, his eyes seemed tired. Something was bothering him and had been for awhile. It had to be serious, considering how well he could pretend otherwise. She frowned, her instincts kicked in and she threw up a quick  _ muffliato _ .

“What-”

“Silencing charm,” she muttered. “Really Theo… are you okay?”

“I’m fi-”

“You can tell me. I wont judge you, I swear.” 

He tapped his nails against the wood. The sharp sound would have no doubt upset Madam Pince if she could hear. However, she just shot a suspicious look over at the two of them as she reentered the library. 

Hermione read once about how open body language made people more open to you. She pulled back her shoulders and lifted her hands. She wasn’t sure what position to put them in. The only open sort of motion she could make was a hug and that would be awkward… maybe?

“I’m concerned,” Theo said.

“About?” she snapped, her temper flaring in response to the words.

“Malfoy.”

And just like that her anger melted away. She hadn’t forgotten her thoughts last week. That she had somehow broken the delicate balance they had achieved.

“Oh?”

“He’s been-”

_ Upset. Hurt. Regretful. Can’t barely stomach being in the same room as me? _

“-Off lately.”

“Off?” she asked. “In what way?

“Just… off.”

“Right,” she said. “And what do you expect me to do about this? Shouldn’t you be talking to your Head of House or Prefects?”

_ Or anyone other than me. _

“Granger, I know you don’t get along but get your head out of your pretty little arse for a second,” he snipped. “You’re Head Girl, isn’t it your responsibility to check in on students? I’m just asking you to listen”

“Fine,” she huffed and crossed her arms. To hell with open body language. She would love to close out the conversation. If only she could block out the slimy feeling in her chest.

“He’s been quiet,” Theo continued. “Doesn’t leave the room to do anything other than go to class. He’s not really eating… or sleeping I think.”

“Okay,” Hermione responded.

_ Your fault. _

“He barely speaks to anyone and constantly spaces out… He hasn’t looked this bad since fifth year.”

_ Because of you. _

“Get to the point Theo,” she snapped, not needing any more things to feel responsible for.

“He’s guilty.”

She blinked owlishly at him.

“He has a lot to be guilty about,” she mumbled. “I don’t see what this has to do with me?”

“No this is- ugh,” Theo, groaned and tilted his head back. “Aren’t you Gryffindors supposed to be good at the lovey-dovey nonsense.”

“That would be the Hufflepuffs. Our version of love is more of a ‘love strongly because we may not make it to the end of the night’ sort of set up.”

“You’re so annoying,” he groaned.

“Thanks,” she scoffed. “Why on earth did you come to  _ me _ about Draco Malfoy’s feelings?” 

“So direct, you lions.” He clicked his tongue. “Did he come talk to you?”

She openly baulked.

“About?”

There was no way Theo knew. Malfoy wouldn’t dare tell him and if he had, Theo certainly would have addressed it by now. Likely with some sort of dry sarcasm followed by an innuendo involving a threesome from hell.

Theo cleared his throat and fidgeted in his seat. He was trying to look anywhere but her eyes when he spoke again.

“About the manor.”

Hermione froze. Her arm itched again, ripping through her mind with an unrelenting urge to tear at her sleeve and pull the skin away layer by layer until nothing was left. Dark magic left traces, on a person's soul. In their wands. In  _ her _ skin.

“W-what about it?”

“I’ve...er. I read the articles. I know what happened-”

“No Theo. You really don’t.” She was trying to stay calm, panic edging at her mind. A ghost of a mania-filled laugh drifted through her thoughts.

“He feels bad about it you know?” Hermione laughed dryly in spite of herself and Theo groaned. “That was a severe understatement. Let me try again. What happened to you fucking eats at him. He loathes himself for letting it happen and it drives him someplace. Someplace dark, some place I can’t reach him.”

“You think his guilt is for me. He hates me, Theo.”

_ Or at least he should if I’m right. _

“Of course not, well... not you specifically. But contrary to everything you and your little friends believe, Draco is a person capable of empathy. He would have hated to see anyone in your place. He did see others in your place and they haunt him too.” Theo’s eyes darkened. “They just don’t wander around school starting arguments with him in class.”

“That doesn’t mean-”

“He talks in his sleep you know. Prick must have some nasty nightmares.” Theo shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You come up alot. More so recently.”

“I have no idea why-”

“Alright look. Let’s get to the point,” Theo snapped. Something dangerous roiled in the air around him. A feeling that her instincts told to heed and not risk making him angier. It was an odd sensation from the flirtatious and quiet boy. 

“-Something has happened to him, something that kickstarted old memories. All I am saying is… if he does something stupid. Or approaches you… just hear him out.”

“Theo,” she sighed. 

“Please. You don’t have to forgive him. Just… listen okay?”

She wanted to say no. She wanted to scream that there was no penance for that night and he was the only one alive left to hate. But then she remembered his hesitance, and how it was mirrored in a classroom a bit over a week ago. Her pushing him, her asking for pain. Pain he had already seen. Pain that had made him white as a shaking sheet as he watched her writhe on his drawing room floor.

“If…” She swallowed back the shake to her voice. “If he were to approach me I would listen.”

“That’s all I ask. Thank you Hermione.” He awkwardly rubbed the back of his head. “I… I know this is asking a lot of you. But Draco is a friend. He’s… He’s still trying to reconcile who he is with who he has been. It’s hard for him… since they are two drastically different people.”

“I’ll try Theo.” Thick and noxious, the feeling roiled through her stomach. “I can’t promise anything else. There’s just too much…”

“I know. I know…” He glanced down at the books she was reading. “Can I help with that?”

They spent the next hour or so in the library discussing her almost completed project. When she would drift away he would pull her back with a related question or interesting point. He seemed to realize there was something off, but chose not to mention it. Hermione was grateful, she already had enough things to think about.

Even so, by the time she left the library, Hermione needed a second opinion. It was time to talk to George.


	17. Chapter 17

Hermione spirited away from the castle just after dark that Saturday. It was only a week until break started and she could have just waited but she really didn’t want to sit through another holiday at the Burrow full of pitying looks and thinly veiled concern. Instead she got the Headmistress’s permission to pass through the gates and visit George. 

Headmistress McGonagall was hesitant at first, still entirely too cautious of her war-scarred pupils' safety. But after a stern reminder that Hermione was an adult and could sneak away if she wanted to anyway the elder witch acquiesced. Hermione secretly thought McGonagall knew  _ something _ was up, even if she didn’t say so directly.

After a slightly distracted detour (where she found herself staring at the new releases in Tomes and Scrolls) she headed to the The Three Broomsticks. If Madam Rosmerta found anything odd about a student’s nighttime use of a floo she said nothing and simply waved Hermione on.

“Diagon Alley.”

The green flames overtook her vision before she was pushed forward and out of the public floo in the Leaky Cauldron. Tom blinked at her briefly before smiling and pulling out a glass.

“Miss Granger. I’m surprised to see you. I thought you and the soon-to-be Missus Potter were back at school. I’ll have to open a new cask if that one’s coming.”

Hermione waved him off before he could pour her a drink. Tom had become something of a confidant for Hermione over the summer. He frequently helped Hermione get Ginny home after Hermione dragged her back from some muggle bar and would provide a booth for them to sober up in if Hermione had partaken. A warm smile could always be counted on, even in the dingy décor of the Leaky.

“Not tonight Tom. Heading up the street.” Tom had seen her off to George’s enough times to know where she was going. One particularly late night when she had wandered into Ottery St Catchpole by accident before apparating to the Leaky, he had gone so far as to exit the bar to walk her up the street to the shop. 

“Alright. Tell George I say hello. Also tell him to stay the hell away from my niece. She’s visiting for the holidays and I don’t want him sniffing around her.” Hermione smiled indulgently as the older man groused. 

A few of the elder women drinking nearby tittered in mirth. George’s preferences were very much known by the denizens of the Leaky considering he frequently had to floo in from wherever he had gone to meet a new witch. Everyone simply thought it was just a boyish pastime of someone grateful to have made it through the war alive. Only Hermione knew it was how he tried to fill that aching part of him that died with his twin.

Hermione meandered up the street, sighing at the basket of kittens sleeping in the front window of Eeylops. A small ginger ear flicked as the kitten yawned before rolling onto its brother. It made her heart ache and she pushed onward, missing her familiar and his comforting purr. He had never come back after the battle and she prayed he was living in the forbidden forest, too happy with his easy diet of spiders and roaming to return.

The garish orange and purple of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes shone in the cold moonlight. Snow rarely stuck in London, so instead of the thick blanket coating Hogwarts, the shop glittered with a light sheen of water.

She slipped around back, shuttering as she passed through the dark alley. George had cleaned it up, using magic to grow some of their potion ingredients and adding a small bistro set. But at night, Hermione still saw the darkness of the shadows, waiting for someone to jump out and attack her. 

Pushing ahead she walked up to the door marked 401 and rested her hand on the latch. She heard the lock click, the wards recognizing her magic and welcoming her into the building. The door closed behind her as she climbed the steps to George’s flat.  She knocked softly once, before slipping in. Crossing the living room with quick steps she settled in the kitchen, brewing herself a cup of tea. The wards would let him know she had arrived but he would find her when he wasn’t busy.

Approximately ten minutes later George appeared in the kitchen, slightly sweaty with pajama bottoms slung low on his hips. 

“Didn’t expect you tonight Hermione,” he asked, leaning against the frame. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I just needed to talk.”

“Did I miss an owl or….”

“No, sorry. It was sort of sudden. Please take all the time you need. I’ve been needing some space to think anyway.”

George’s blue eyes bore into her, taking in her calm state as she sipped at her tea.

“Alright then. Give me an hour?”

She nodded and he made his way to the fridge. He pulled out three bottles of beer.

“Three?” Hermione questioned smugly. George laughed.

“A set of American twins here for a visit. Who was I to say no?”

Hermione suddenly frowned worriedly.

“What?” George asked with a smile.

“It’s just…”

“Hermione. Don’t-”

“Is that a good idea?”

“Probably not,” George snapped, stepping back out into the hall. “But it’s almost the same.”

Hermione threw up a silencing spell on the kitchen the moment sounds started drifting from the bedroom. Clearly she had rankled him a bit with the last comment and he hadn’t bothered to put up his own charm. 

She pulled a book out her bag and began to read. By the time George stepped back into the kitchen an hour later she had made it one page and was wondering if gelato was its own thing or if it was really just ice cream that was pretending to be better than it was.

“Deep thoughts on a Saturday night?” George stood in the doorway with a slightly pained smile on his face. Hermione didn’t comment on it.

“General musings about dairy. Nothing important,” she added when his eyebrow quirked. “Hi.”

“Hey.” George stared at her for a moment before pushing off the door looking much more relaxed. “Boy trouble?”

“Don’t call it that,” Hermione spat.

“Touchy,” George said. “I’ve got Tylenol and beer. Pick one.”

“Beer,” she groused as he moved to the fridge.

“So lack of boy then?”

“Oh, shut up.”

George cracked open two bottles, handing one off to her and sitting across from her. They sat in silence until Hermione’s attention started to drift again. This time focusing on the floral pattern of the wall paper just over George’s shoulder.

“Do I need to put a shirt on?” he joked lightly. 

In spite of his tone, Hermione noted his grip tightening on his bottle and the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“I’m not here for that. You can relax.”

“You sell yourself short Hermione. It would be a blessing not a chore.” He took a swig of his beer and Hermione saw the tension in his shoulders release. He was always a terrible liar.

“So you’re fighting with the ferret?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t call it fighting, more so than avoiding.”

“What did he do?” George questioned hotly.

“Actually. He’s the one avoiding me,” she frowned and added, “And it’s what I did.”

“What did you do to piss him off enough to avoid you? And more importantly, can I market it?” When Hermione didn't even smile, George sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Better start from the beginning.”

Hermione filled him in, providing the back story she hadn’t given him before. He didn’t interrupt her but she could all but feel his magic crackling with anger when he had heard how Malfoy had chased her. It was strange considering she looked back on the memory fondly.  Still, she spared most of the more sordid details as she worked through the last month and a half, giving him only the context needed to get to the actual problem afternoon where she attacked him and he worked her over with his belt. He took in Malfoy’s parting words thoughtfully, even as she continued to ramble.

“- and now I can’t help but wonder if I had been pushing all of this on him and he just doesn’t feel like he can say no. Merlin, and you have  _ always  _ told me to never be ashamed of what I like as long as my partner consents but I just didn’t  _ think  _ and now-”

“Stop.” George held up a hand cutting her off. “Merlin, I can’t believe I am about to contribute to Malfoy getting laid. I need another beer… you?”

Hermione nodded when she noticed her own empty bottle. George’s wand flicked toward the fridge and two bottles came sailing out, Hermione snapped hers out of the air and swallowed back half of it, letting the bitter taste wash down her scratchy throat. There was more to talk about than she had originally thought.

“Okay,” George said from across the table. He paused before groaning. Hi s fingers pinched the bridge of his nose and his face was screwed up in distaste.

“Sorry,” Hermione murmured, taking a weak sip. “It’s just that no one else knows.”

“No, no it’s fine. You should always feel like you can talk to me.” George's face flashed with the overprotective fury Hermione frequently saw on Ron when he walked in on Harry and Ginny. It made whatever hope she had for the two of them shrivel and die in her chest but a larger part of her welcomed the brotherly affection with pride. 

“Well… You were the only other person I've forced like this.”

“You didn’t for anything ‘Mione. It was just-”

“Don’t lie,” she snapped. “I know you hated striking me like that. It’s fine. You don’t have to deny it to spare my feelings. I need to know the truth so I can find out if this is fixable.”

“Right. The truth,” George said. “Well after I... hit you, I was a bit… put out after seeing the marks. I didn’t like that I had hurt you so badly. I just needed some time to cool off and settle afterwards… was it a week?”

Hermione shrugged, she wasn’t sure either. She slipped into her haze again and didn’t come out until George dragged her back to his place sometime later.

“So it has been long enough for him to have worked through whatever was going on in his head. I don’t think you have in any way forced him into anything he didn’t want and the simple solution is to talk to him, apologize and offer to continue shagging.”

“And the complicated answer?” she prompted knowing there was more he wasn’t saying.

George threw back the rest of his beer, summoning another for the both of them. He indicated for her to finish as well and she did, sucking down the last of the alcohol.

“I think you’re wrong.”

“Wrong!?!” Hermione growled. Her anger was (in hindsight, wisely) muted by the alcohol as it worked it’s way through her system. She forced herself to take another drink, telling herself he was just trying to help.

“Yes wrong. You can occasionally be wrong, Hermione. No one is perfect.” George said, eyeing her warily.

“Let’s hear it then,” she managed to grit out.

“I think your brain has gone into overdrive pulling up the worst possible scenario. I don’t think any of your concerns are valid... at all. Let me finish-” Hermione snapped her mouth shut as nursed her beer instead. “From everything you have told me, which by the way was in the worst possible light you could imagine, it still sounds like he is an enthusiastic and willing participant.”

“Maybe to start with but after-”

“He seems to be really into leaving marks on you.” George shuttered dramatically, causing a small smile to pull at her lips. “I couldn’t stand looking at them. Take that how you will.”

She frowned but nodded for him to continue.

“What this sounds like is your garden variety lack of communication that pops up in all relationships regardless of whatever kinky things the pair is into.”

“We aren’t in a relationship,” Hermione corrected.

“Aren’t you?” George questioned. “Not dating mind you, but a relationship of some kind. It’s hard to argue otherwise considering you see each other naked twice a week.”

“Yeah but-”

“Acknowledge it, Hermione. I thought I taught you better than to lie to yourself about stuff like this.”

“I suppose... “ Hermione grumbled, letting the buzz of alcohol wear at her brain. “It could be considered… a sort of… professional agreement.”

“I believe that it’s the exact opposite of professional actually.'' Hermione glared at him but George just laughed.

“He’s just using me and I am just using him. There’s nothing more to it.”

“Do you really believe that?” George questioned. “I mean if so, more power to you. I know that the reason I am the town broomstick is because I don’t want anyone getting too attached.”

“Never the same witch twice,” Hermione chuckled.

“Well, you're the exception.” George winked playfully.

They sat in silence sipping on their beers until they were empty. A clock ticked in the living room, echoing in her drunk mind as she thought. Her conversation with Luna came to mind. Familiarity breeds understanding, indeed.

“Maybe you may have a point,” she sighed finally.

“Of course I do.” George smiled. “And it’s clear he is aware of it on some level so he’s staying away.”

She wanted to argue. Malfoy was incapable of higher emotions. He was cruel, selfish, a bastard… and apparently swimming in guilt according to Theo… Shite.

“What do I do?” she groaned finally, letting her chin fall to the table. Her vision swam and the lights of the kitchen seemed too bright to her eyes.

“Talk to him, get it all out there.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” she groused. “Any recommendations?”

“Well for any other bloke I'd say you stomp up to him in the Great Hall and snog him senseless before pulling him away for a quick shag… For Malfoy,” He shuttered again and she kicked his knee under the table. “I still say the git doesn’t deserve it but he does seem fond of snatching you from hallways. Why not extract a bit of revenge?”

“Oh?” Hermione questioned, lifting her head to find George grinning widely. “Do elaborate.”


	18. Chapter 18

Hermione had tried to be polite. She really had. After waking up the next morning and slinging back some of the hangover cure she and Dean had brewed a few weeks ago she spent the rest of Sunday trying to get Malfoy’s attention. Unfortunately he seemed to still be purposely avoiding her and spent every second he could with Theo or in his room. 

It wasn’t a total loss though. She had run into Neville and through broken stuttered words asked if he had any book recommendations for their ‘similar interest’. He just smiled and had her wait in the common room before handing off a book charmed with the cover ‘100 mundane plants with useful applications’. She opened it to a random page and quickly snapped it shut, with red cheeks. He laughed before sending her on her way to spend the rest of the night reading.

When Monday rolled around she sent the letter she had written for Malfoy over with the rest of the charmed mail. Miss Manners would be proud with the formality she had asked him to meet with her at his earliest convenience. It had been difficult for her natural bossiness not to bleed through, particularly considering the recipient. 

Her heart pounded as it landed in front of him, unnoticed by the other students. Pale fingers picked dully at the parchment, unfolding it carefully. She watched his eyes move as they scanned it, his face still perfectly blank when he immolated it and then banished the ashes. Her frown went unnoticed by the rest of the table, mostly due to Ron waving around a letter that had landed by him.

“‘Mione! Got a letter from Krum.” He passed the letter to Harry who handed it off to her without looking.

“Thanks Ron,” she said.

“Is it-”

“No,” she snapped, making the redhead shy away. She knew he meant well but ever since he discovered her secret paramour wasn’t Theo he had been asking about every boy she so much as glanced at. It was quickly growing annoying and her patience was thin these days.

When she looked back at the Slytherin table Malfoy was gone, his breakfast half eaten yet again. Sick of doing things the polite way she pushed back from the table and brushed off her housemates questioning looks with a mention of the library.

It didn’t take long to find him, his own free period made it easy to guess that he would be slinking back to the dungeons. She skipped ahead using a shortcut through a painting of a beach that when stepped into spit you out at its twin a floor down. She withdrew the packet of  _ confundus _ powder George had given her and scattered it around the hall and on the door to an empty classroom. According to the prankster, the powder would confuse the first person to walk across it, trapping them in the space until the charm ended or he entered the door. It was supposed to be quite subtle but George didn’t really know subtle if it hit him in the face with a brick. She saw the flash of blond appear just around the corner as she slipped into the classroom and waited in a nearby chair.

Malfoy was stubborn. It took him approximately ten minutes before he entered the door and his wand was out as he stepped in. 

“Hello,” Hermione called with her arms crossed over his chest. He swore and moved to step back outside when she drew her wand.

“ _ Incarcerous _ .”

Malfoy’s shield did nothing as the conjured ropes passed through it, twisting around him tightly. Hermione summoned a chair across from her and levitated him forward to rest on the wood. The ropes slid around the chair, locking the fuming man in place. George was right, a bit of revenge was fun.

“Malfoy. It’s been forever if it’s been an age.” She let her anger leak into her tone, clarity easily coming to mind as it always did around him.

“May I help you Granger?” he questioned, looking far too relaxed considering he was here against his apparent will.

“It’s been nearly two weeks.”

“I was unaware we had a standing appointment,” he scoffed. 

“Don’t be cute. I’m pissed, frustrated, and deeply annoyed with you. I have half of a mind to hex you a few times before even trying to talk to you.”

“Talk?” Hermione saw the muscles in his right arm tense and release. “About what?”

“You aren’t stupid.” She smiled when, just as he managed the wand-less counter-spell for the ropes, he realized that there was also a sticking charm on the chair. She recast the _ incarcerous _ , this time the ropes snaked around his fingers as well. “And you’re a bit tied up as well, so you may as well behave.”

He scowled at her, eyes burning. After a moment his face dropped and he relaxed back into the chair, his gaze raking over her crossed legs and chest.

“I can show you how to properly tie someone up Granger,” he purred. She shifted at the feeling of heat rising in her cheeks. “I won’t even need to trick you into it. You’ll be begging for more once I’m done with you.”

Hermione frowned, struggling to keep her breathing under control at the thought. It had been too long and she was getting restless.

“What a debauched segway into the conversation. I suppose it is difficult to expect more from you,” she sighed, tapping her wand against her lip, perfectly aware of the way his eyes tracked it hungrily. “If I let you go will you behave?”

“No,” he responded darkly, eyes burning with lust. 

_ Damn it George. Out of all the times to be right. _

“I suppose I walked into that one,” she conceded, canceling her spells but stopping him when he moved to stand. “No, sit. It’s time we had a little chat about all of this. Keep in mind you won’t make it to the door before I can hex you.”

Malfoy growled but settled back against the chair with his arms crossed and his long legs splayed out in front of him.

“Fine.” 

“Excellent.” Hermione lowered her wand. They stared at each other for a moment while Hermione tried to shut down her body's natural response to his presence. Malfoy had no qualms about his, not even bothering to hide the tenting in his pants.

“Well,” he finally snapped. “Talk, get on your knees, or let me out of here. I don’t have all day.”

“God you're vile.” 

“I believe you like that, don't you?” He smirked and she bit back the urge to either hex him or do as he said.

“I think we need to address what happened a couple of weeks ago.”

“Why?” he questioned. In spite of the bored tone, she still saw the way his muscles tightened in his shoulders.

“Because this isn’t working,” she spat.

“There is no ‘this’.”

“So then it’s done?” she responded, keeping the hollow feeling in her chest out of her voice.

“I didn’t say that,” he murmured watching her from half lidded eyes.

“Then talk,” she snapped. “I don’t want to constantly have to worry that you are going to get freaked out over something and run for the hills every time we fuck. Why are you avoiding me?”

“You haven’t exactly sought me out.” 

“Oh, please. You’ve been hiding behind your housemates or in your room for weeks. The last time had obviously spooked you-”

“Don’t be-”

“-and I need to know why so I don’t do it again,” she finished with a glare. He blinked once, twice then slowly, all the muscles in his body relaxed.

“You didn’t do anything Granger. Don’t worry about it,” he muttered.

“Look, if you aren’t into all this it’s fine. I can find someone else.”

“Oh yes, I clearly hate _everything_ about this situation.” He drawled sarcastically nodding to his lap. He smirked when she didn’t look down. “If that’s all you're worried about we can ignore it, you can untie me, and I can fuck you against the wall until you are too sore to make it to Arithmancy.”

“Malfoy...” she started, ignoring the wetness between her thighs.

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell Professor Vector I saw you limping.” 

“No.” She had a freaking job to focus on. She glared at him. “Work with me on this and it’ll go smoother.”

“There’s nothing to work on,” he hissed. “Tell me to stop if I go too far. Otherwise keep taking my cock until you can’t move. What’s so hard about that?

“That’s it?” she questioned, settling into her chair. “There isn’t a single thing I could ask you to do that would upset you.”

“My tastes run dark,” he growled. “I’m willing to bet darker than yours.”

“Oh really?” she questioned, pushing to a stand. Her robe hit the ground in a rumple of fabric and his eyes snapped to her legs. She had dressed for battle today, just in case it would come to this. Her skirt was just barely long enough to be regulation and she had forgone stockings completely. Her shirt was one of her thin summer oxfords and did nothing to hide the black lace bra underneath. She smiled when his face pulled into a hungry snarl.

“Granger…” He warned, his voice low and husky as she drifted closer, swaying her hips slightly. His arm reached for her wrist but she danced away and his eyes flashed. “The second I can touch you-”

“Yes yes. I’m sure I will pay for this and it will leave me sore for days. Focus.”

He begrudgingly dragged his eyes away from her legs as she came to a stop just in front of him.

“You like hurting me,” she said. He frowned. “Is that wrong?” He shrugged. “Oh for Merlin’s sake, Malfoy. Fucking speak to me.”

His mouth twitched and she glared at him. After a moment he glanced away.

“It’s not hurting you per say.” He glared at the ground as if willing it to catch fire. 

“Go on,” she prompted.

“I like having you at my mercy.” His eyes flicked back to hers and his mouth curled into a dark smile. “I like having you bent over a desk begging me to fuck you because I am the only one that can.” He stood and lifted his hand to delicately grip her jaw as the ash eyes burned into her. “I like being in control.”

She swallowed, knowing he could feel her pulse fluttering under her skin. She had to focus.

“And if I want you to hit me,” she breathed.

He smirked cruelly.

“I’ve already done that,” he breathed, leaning in to lick at her bottom lip.

“And if I want you to call me mudblood?” He frowned.

“Fine.”

“Or cut me?” she questioned, a harder edge to her voice. He stiffened and his eyes steeled. “Make me bleed?”

“Well-”

“What if I want you to use the torture curse on me Malfoy? What then?” That last one did it and he stepped away. He looked angry, a bit disgusted, and quite honestly scared.

“Do you?” he hissed. Hermione saw the barest hint of a tremor in his hands and she took pity.

“No.” She would be more than happy to never feel that pure agony ever again.

Malfoy relaxed slightly, but it didn’t stop the shaking in his hands. He hid them in his pockets instead. 

“Look, this relationship-” he growled at the word but she continued. “-is a professional one. You know all about that don’t you? Professional relationships and rules and agreements that both parties follow. Just think of it like that.”

“Terrible analogy but fine,” he snarled. “What do you want from me?”

“What won’t you do?” She struggled to pull up the terms she had found in the book. “What are your absolute ‘no’s versus what you don’t have much interest in but would be open to try?”

“I don’t think there is much I’d be unwilling to try,” he scoffed.

“Other than tossing a  _ crucio  _ at me?” Hermione corrected. When he remained silent she sighed.

“Fine, I’ll go first.” She turned swiftly, letting her skirt flip up just enough so that it was clear she wasn’t wearing knickers. Malfoy made a choked sound in his throat but his face had schooled back into a mask by the time she sat in her chair. 

“I do not want other bodily fluids involved.” His face screwed up in disgust.

“That’s a thing?”

“To some.” She shrugged. “I don’t have any interest in anything illegal. I never want to be called mudblood. I don’t mind some anal play but sex is a no and I will not do anything involving polyjuice without the express consent of the donor. I also don’t want anyone involved in this.”

“Fine,” Malfoy agreed.

“In general, I am not into anything involving blood or leaves a permanent mark-” his eyes shot to the star shaped mark near her collarbone that she had worn since their second encounter. “-but yes that is the exception. If I grow to trust you enough I  _ might _ be willing to involve lust potions into this but never without my expressed notice and permission.”

His eyes lit up at that an evil grin slashed across his face.

“Other than that, as long as I have my wand and you stop when I tell you I’m willing to try most things.”

“Your terms are agreeable. Now-” He stepped forward, only to be met by her vinewood.

“Your turn Malfoy.” 

He sighed before settling back into the chair, lounging in the cheap wood like it was a throne and she was an annoying commoner coming to complain about the crop yields.  _ Prat. _

“The no’s are the same. But I won’t be scarring you again. That was an accident.” He frowned as he thought. “No guarantees on drawing blood but I’ll try not to and it won’t be anything that can’t be healed by magic or potions.”

“Fine.”

“And I’m still the only one who can heal you.” She nodded. “Also I don’t want any other man touching you, period.”

“No,” she responded flatly. “Hard rule, I’m not letting you affect my friendships.”

He growled but moved on.

“Never tie me up again. I don’t care what your reason is, I fucking hate it.”

“Sorry,” she flinched before setting her jaw. “Then when I tell you we need to talk you can’t run away.”

“I wasn’t running-”

“And when something is off you have to talk to me. Not right away but at least within a few days.”

“Fine,” he huffed. He opened his mouth then snapped it shut. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Spit it out Malfoy.” she said.

“I want to be able to stop. Even if you think you don’t need to… I should have stopped you last time. You weren't… okay.”

Her shock must have shown on her face because he sneered and looked away. She couldn’t help it, it was such an oddly… innocent statement from him.

“Of course you can stop,” she stammered. “That’s a given. Really it’s your job.”

“My job?” he questioned. “Where are you getting all this?”

It felt like giving up an advantage but she had to remind herself that if she saw him as an enemy in this it would never work.

“I have a book.”

“Of course you do,” he scoffed.

“I’ll duplicate and send a copy to you later.”

“Great, are we done here?” he snapped. 

Hermione sighed and nodded. She had intended to cancel the _confundus_ powder on the door but suddenly felt the cooling wave of his magic roll and hit her chest. She yelped as her buttons popped to the floor. 

“Rhetorical question,” he hissed as he stalked toward her. She took instinctive steps back until she was flush against the wall, her blouse hanging open. Malfoy smirked, lightly dragging his hand down her neck and around her breasts. He laughed when she flinched.

“Oh no, Granger,” he crooned, sweeping the satin straps from her shoulders. “You don’t get to drag me into a room, tie me to a chair, then act like you are afraid of me.”

“Not afraid of you,” she breathed, her eyes drifting shut as he tucked his thumb under the band, pulling it down slowly.

“You should be,” he purred. Her eyes shot open on instinct, her wand tightly grasped in her hand. He had the fucking nerve to laugh at her as he dipped his mouth to hers. “I told you before. I don’t prefer violence, but it is an excellent weapon in the arsenal.”

Her breath hitched when he rolled a pert nipple in between his fingers not pinching but just on the edge of pain. She fought back a moan as he nipped at her lower lip sucking it into his mouth.

His hard body pressed tightly against hers and despite her better judgement she hesitantly lifted her arms to wrap around his neck. She felt his hand slide under her skirt, tracing the curve of her hip before dipping lower. 

He silenced her moan with a kiss, perfectly precise in every movement, from the way his lips covered hers, to the way his fingers pulled and pinched at her clit. It had been too long and she was absolutely desperate for him at this point.

Hesitantly, she lifted her leg, hooking around his hip to give him better access. He growled in approval, removing his hand from her chest to free himself. She felt his cock nudge her entrance and she tried desperately to sink down on it, only to find herself pinned between him and the wall.

“Please,” she tried, moaning as he sucked and bit at her neck, renewing faded marks. He always loved it when she begged. “Please Malfoy.”

“Patience.”

He was slowly working her to a frenzy, never changing his controlled, masterful strokes even as she writhed under him. Eventually, even his glacial pace was enough, pulling her to the edge stroke by stroke. 

“Please. Please, oh god please Malfoy,” she gasped, her body taunt and just on the edge.

“I’m going to let you come Granger,” he breathed, finishing reddening the skin of her right breast. She keened at the promise, but he was a liar. So it meant nothing… right? When she said nothing he frowned.

“I will. I’ve never not taken care of you.” He paused all movement. She groaned, writhing against the tip of his cock and still hand trying to get there on her own. “Well, other than that one time after I throat fucked you. But you deserved that for being so disrespectful.”

She wanted to spit out that she still didn’t respect him. But if she did that he would probably stop.

“So here’s what I want.” She all but screamed when he resumed his steady strokes, adding in a soft thrust. It wasn’t enough to enter her, just enough to remind her that he was there. 

“I’m going to make you fall apart.” She shivered, her body desperately agreeing with him. “And right as you crest, I am going to fucking drive my cock into you. And you’re going to thank me for it.”

Hermione nodded, mostly because her body was already shaking and it seemed like a natural response. 

“See. You can be a good listener with the right conditions.”

He rewarded her with a sharp smack on her arse that made her heart skip a beat. But he didn’t change his pace, climbing and climbing. Her moans grew louder, building with the passion until-

She screamed as she came. Hermione had barely a half of a second before he slammed into her as promised, riding her through the rest of her release in such a painful stretch she was sure she was going to split open. He pumped in time with the waves of her orgasm until he came to a stop and she was twitching around him, held up by an arm looped around her waist, her head buried in his neck and whispering her thanks against his skin in a muted prayer.

Soft circles were being drawn on her lower back and it took her a second to realize it was him. The movement seemed absent-minded as he pressed open mouth kisses on her shoulder. It was oddly intimate and that part of her mind that wasn’t sure where to place him noted it with fascination. She pulled back, uncomfortable with the new development.

“You-” her voice was high pitched and she coughed lightly to clear it. “You can move now.”

He raised an eyebrow but simply stared at her and bucked into her. Her body spasmed, overly sensitive and still reeling from her own orgasm. 

“Fuck,” he swore through gritted teeth, “You’ve got to relax; you’re too tight.”

Hermione forced herself to breath, burying her head back into his neck. It didn’t feel right to have him stare at her so this was the next best option. She made her breathing match his and focused her attention on kissing along his neck. She always focused better on a task anyway.

She nipped the spot behind his ear, frowning when he flinched. She pulled back awkwardly, remembering that last time her teeth ran across his skin.

“Sorry about that,” she murmured, trying to hide her flush. Malfoy blinked at her then shrugged.

“Wasn’t that bad. May even be pleasurable in another circumstance I suppose.”

“You didn’t have to leave it.”

“Only seemed fair,” he grumbled. 

Hermione doubted he realized that he had started rubbing at her lower back again. It eased the last of the tension from her and she soon found herself twitching her hips against him. She waited for him to take over again in vain. It took until she felt him smiling against her shoulder she realized what he was waiting for. She leaned back, rolling her eyes.

“Please Malfoy.”

“Tck.” He hiked up her other leg, supporting the whole of her weight around him. “You’re so ungrateful.”

She was going to argue until he lifted her hips up and drove back into her harshly, drawing a deep moan from the both of them. She renewed her grip around his neck, pushing her chest closer to give him a better angle. She buried her face against his hair, panting against the fine threads, as her desire built again until she was just on the edge. She fought it off, wanting to wait until he was ready. His thrust grew erratic, that tight control she was used to slipping in the face of his own climax. 

Finally she let go, feeling him drive deep into her with his own release, coming apart around him until she wasn’t sure where she ended and he began. Her body drank him in easily, calling for him even as she came down. She frowned at the knowledge of this new intimacy between them. It wasn’t bad per say… but it wasn’t… well, Malfoy.

He eased her down to her feet, making sure she could support herself before pulling away with a hiss. He stumbled back to the chair a few feet away and collapsed in it, eyes closed and lightly sweaty. She stared at him, admiring the view. 

For all that he was, no one could deny that Draco Malfoy cut a fine figure. His near-white hair was disheveled and his usually pale cheeks were flushed a pleasant pink. Tight muscles pulled at his shirt and his long legs splayed out in front of him. Hermione could just see a flash of silky navy beneath the black of his pants. It reminded her of a strange thought.

“Got something against beds Malfoy?” she quipped, letting herself sink to the floor in a heap. He threw an arm over his eyes and laughed, an actual, real, non-hateful laugh. It was so uncharacteristically warm she wouldn’t have matched it with him in a thousand years. She pulled her bra back on and her shirt mostly closed just to have some sense of coverage.

“I could drag you down to the Slytherin dorms if you are willing to bend on that sharing limit. I hear you and Theo already have an arrangement and Blaise has never been very particular about who he screws.”

“Ah, so you heard about that,” she grumbled, resting her hands on her knees and leaning back against the wall. Malfoy’s lips pulled into a sneer for only a moment before his face wiped clean.

“Yeah, I heard.”

“Sorry,” she grumbled, mostly because it seemed like a thing she should say. “It was a joke.”

“You aren’t mine,” he shrugged. “You can leave anytime you want.”

“I thought you had decided I was,” she challenged with a little half smile.

“Oh shut up. Do you need-” He dropped his arm and stopped mid sentence as he caught sight of her. It took her a moment to remember that she wasn’t wearing knickers. “-healing...”

She smiled smugly as his eyes darkened.

“Didn’t do too much damage on me this time,” she shrugged, pulling herself up and smoothing her skirt. “I’m almost disappointed.”

“Almost?” he questioned.

“Almost,” she agreed. She frowned at the wetness on her thighs and cleaned it away with a quick _scourgify_. 

Malfoy did likewise and adjusted his shirt while casting cooling charms against his skin. He looked at her with a self-satisfied grin.

“You look well-shagged.” 

She scoffed, brushing off her skirt and heading towards the door with a haughty flip of her likely frizzed out hair.

“I’m going to go get cleaned up before Arithmancy. Do try to keep yourself contained during class.”

He laughed again as she exited. She shivered and wondered what exactly she had just gotten herself into.


End file.
